


Halloween Is Over

by MistyMountainHop



Category: That '70s Show
Genre: Gen, Humor, Romance, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMountainHop/pseuds/MistyMountainHop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric wants to be scared for Halloween, really scared. Donna proposes a contest, and all their friends are in. But can Hyde and Jackie's renewed relationship withstand the test? Can Donna and Kelso ignore their impulses? Will Fez and Eric even survive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Petrifying Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** Takes place after season 7. No stripper. Eric did not go to Africa but to the University of Wisconsin-Parkside with red-haired Donna.

CHAPTER 1  
**A PETRIFYING PROPOSAL**

 

 

 _October 13_ _, 1979_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_The Hub_

**…**

"'Freaky' French fries?" Eric said and flicked The Hub's menu. "'Spooky' shakes... 'horrible' hamburgers? Yeah, I think they might want to try a different marketing strategy." He shoved the menu aside, focusing instead on the décor. October at The Hub reminded him just how lame Halloween had become—cotton spiderwebs on the windows, a string of orange lights, and cartoony wall cut-outs. Far scarier was the old chewing gum stuck to the tables.

At least his "haunted" hot dog tasted decently. No, the responsibility rested firmly on the shoulders of adulthood: Going to college, starting careers, or—in Kelso's case—having a kid. The wonderment Betsy found in sharing a maple leaf with her parents, in sharing _experiences_ with them, was lost to those who looked only ahead.

Not that Eric's friends seemed to care.

They squeezed their "cackling" ketchup onto their plates without comment. Even Hyde failed to make his annual Halloween remark that the ketchup was "blood, man," they were about to eat. Yeah, it was gonna be another year with substandard frights, all right. Watching _Night of the Living Dead_ for the eighth year in a row would probably be enough for them.

"Hey, guys, check it out," Kelso said. He was pointing across The Hub to three women, and his other hand dipped absently into his fries, covering his knuckles in ketchup."Look at the chick with the dark red lips."

Eric was definitely looking. Even sitting, she was statuesque. She kept her shoulders back and neck straight. Her thick brown hair and makeup seemed perfect, and she picked at her French fries daintily.

"Yeah, she was my teller this morning. Her name's Tilly." Kelso licked the ketchup from his fingers and angled his chair out from the table. Then he groped blindly for his soda, but Donna shoved the cup into his grasp before he could spill it. "And I asked if that was short for 'Matilda,' which I totally hoped was wrong 'cause that's a grandma's name, y'know?"

"So what?" Hyde said. He and Jackie were in the booth seat together, and his arm was draped around her shoulders, as usual. "You do it with her in the bank vault or something?"

Kelso shrugged absently, still staring at Tilly. "Well, she took my deposit—"

Fez gasped in mid-bite of his hamburger. "Oh, you beautiful sonuvabitch!"

"No, Fez. She took my wad of—"

"Oh, my God," Fez said and gripped Kelso's arm, "don't say it..." Then his voice grew hushed. "Okay, say it."

"—money," Kelso finished, making Fez frown. "But that was all. Never even told me her full first name. I don't get it. A chick like that should be all over me. We're both hot!"

"Life's full of disappointments, my friend," Eric said. "Like, it's almost Halloween again, and look at this place!" He gestured to the walls. "How are paper pumpkins supposed to be scary?"

Hyde smirked. "Yeah, for you, they should've put out a bunch of playground balls. We all know how they give you nightmares."

"Or a jar with a spider in it," Jackie said, giggling. "Eric, remember the time Steven chased you around with one?"

Eric's throat grew tight at the memory. "At least that was scary! How are 'possessed' pizza and rubber bats scary?"

"You know what's scary?" Kelso said. "A hot bank teller turning me down!"

"Oh, whatever." Donna ran a hand through her hair, exposing one of her ears. Dirty thoughts—dirty, _tingly-in-the-pants_ thoughts—rushed through Eric's mind. The sweet, fleshy bulb of her lobe fit so well between his lips, and teasing her skin with his teeth always made her breath catch. But sweeping his arm across the tables, clearing them of their food, and taking Donna in front of all their friends...

Probably not a good idea.

"Donna, this is serious," Kelso said. "If she doesn't sleep with me—" he glanced at his watch, "crap. It's already 1:30. I might go without sex a whole afternoon!"

"Come on!" Donna was laughing. "Are you telling me you can't handle going without sex for a few hours?"

"He can't," Jackie said and clasped Hyde's hand by her shoulder. She always seemed to give him some kind of physical reassurance these days, especially when talking about Kelso.. "Why do you think he kept cheating on me?"

Donna smiled that quirky half-smile of hers, driving Eric deep into arousal. His arm snaked around her back as she said, "Kelso, I bet you couldn't keep it in your pants a week."

"I... could... _too!"_

"Yeah, right." Hyde chuckled. "You wouldn't last a day."

"Well, neither would you," Kelso said. "Fez is the only one who'd have any chance. He's used to not getting any action."

"Ai..." Fez looked down at his right hand. "It's true. I haven't touched a woman in months."

"Look, guys like us," Kelso traced a circle around Hyde, Eric, and himself, "we get it all the time. Doin' it—well, it's like breathing."

"I'd last a helluva lot longer than you, man," Hyde said, and Kelso trained his focus on Jackie.

"Don't you dare say it, Micha—"

"Burn!" Kelso shouted.

She smacked Hyde on the arm. "See what you did, Steven? Now everyone thinks you can resist me. I'm Jackie Burkhart. _No_ man can resist me."

Hyde arched an eyebrow. "Wanna bet?"

She let out a strange gasp as her eyes widened. Then she crossed her arms and turned away from him. "Oh, yeah? Well, I can resist you, too."

"Right..." His hand slipped below the table, but he quickly withdrew it. Nail marks were cut in his skin, red and curved like frowns.

"Okay, as fun as all this sex, no-sex talk is," Eric said, "what the hell are we gonna do for Halloween? I want the shit scared out of me this year."

"Just walk in on your parents fucking each other," Hyde said. "That should do it."

"No, I wanna be _scared,_ Hyde. Not scarred for life." Eric popped the last bit of his hot dog into his mouth and chewed resentfully as memories of his parents' bare asses flashed behind his eyes. "But thanks."

Soon, Donna finished her "chilling" chicken fingers, and her warm hand glided over Eric's knee. "I'm gonna get some 'dastardly' dessert," she said, standing from the table, and he watched as she went to the ordering counter. Her butt looked fan-freakin'-tastic in the jeans she wore today. Man, did he wanna rip them off her.

A small ice cream sundae was in her hands when she returned, and a mischievous grin had spread on her lips. "I totally know how to make this Halloween scary... for all of us.".

"And how's that, m'lady?" Eric said.

Her grin deepened. "We have a contest to see who can go without sex the longest."

A glob of ice cream dribbled over the edge of her plastic bowl, and Eric caught it with his thumb. "Sure, Donna. Nice Joke," but Kelso was shaking his head, looking genuinely frightened.

A strange silence settled over their tables. Hyde drummed his fingers on his cheek. Jackie bit her bottom lip and stared at the ceiling. Kelso's chest rose and fell rapidly with short breaths, and Eric must have appeared uncomfortable, too. Visions of _Star Wars_ models were floating behind his eyes, thousands of plastic X-Wings flooding the basement while he drowned in his own horniness. How long would he have to swim to get to Donna's open legs?

And Donna, that suggester of this horrible, _horrible_ abomination, didn't look happy either. She concentrated on her sundae, scraping the surface meticulously, as if she were trying to keep it an even plane. Fez was the only one who seemed unfazed. His head bobbed cheerfully to the Bee Gees song playing on the jukebox.

"I'm in," Hyde said after a minute of thick quiet. "I'll even put up fifty bucks."

"What?" Jackie turned her stare onto him. "Steven, you can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious, man." He gestured to both Eric and Kelso. "They'll both be out before the night's over, and we'll make an easy hundred."

Her palm covered her heart. "'We'?"

"Yup." Hyde gently touched the underside of her chin, prompting her to lean in for a kiss.

"Wait, who said I'm putting up any money?" Kelso said.

"Wait," Eric said, too, "who said we're even doing this crazy contest? Because it's crazy."

Donna put down her sundae, wiped her hand on a napkin. "You know what? I'll go in for fifty dollars."

"No, you have to put up a hundred," Jackie said. "All you've gotta resist is Eric, and how hard can that be?"

"You have no idea," Donna whispered, "believe me," and she picked up her sundae again. "Fifty dollars is totally fair."

"But, Donna," panic was rising in Eric's chest, "if you go in, that means _I'm_ in." She raised her eyebrows at him, and the panic sunk to his feet. "Well—fine! I might as well get _some_ thing out of this. I'm in for fifty, too."

Hyde snickered, and that seemed to spur Kelso into action. He stuck his hand into his pocket and slammed fifty dollars on the table. "That's it! We are _so_ on!"

"Cool," Hyde said, "but why're you carrying around fifty bucks? Didn't you just put cash _in_ the bank?"

Kelso nodded over to Tilly, the statuesque bank teller. "Oh, after I deposited my check, I made a withdrawal. Gave me another chance to—"

"Get her pregnant?" Hyde grabbed Kelso's money, two twenties and a ten. Then he said to Jackie, "This dough's as good as ours, man. How's dinner at The Vineyard sound?"

Eric snatched the money from Hyde's overconfident fingers, "You haven't won yet," and passed it back to Kelso. "Everyone should hold onto their own cash—until you're out."

Fez, who'd been quiet until now, stretched his back as if waking from a nap. Afterward, he presented his open palm. "I am in, too. You may give me your money now."

"Oh, no, no, no," Kelso said. "You're not allowed in this contest."

"But... but—!" Fez inhaled sharply and pouted. Kelso glanced at Hyde, who glanced at Eric. It was clear the three of them shared the same thought: For once, Fez had too unfair an advantage.

Donna, though, seemed to be having much different thoughts. Her eyes had narrowed, and her nose crinkled. She was calculating. "We'll just have to adjust the contest rules," she said, and Eric's face grew hot. "No sex and no, um... satisfying yourself _yourself._ That way, Fez can take part."

Jackie tilted her head, like she hadn't quite heard her. "Excuse me?"

"You mean we can't..." Kelso curled his fist and jerked it in the air.

Hyde shifted in the booth seat and didn't speak. His lips were pressed tightly together, and he peered over at the restrooms. But a taut, "Fine," eventually escaped him.

Eric's cheeks were burning. He felt adrift in a vast desert, the naked sun drilling him into the coarse sand. "Well, Donna," he said and patted her arm, "you've officially done it."

"Done what?" she said.

"You've scared the shit out of me."


	2. Threading the Needle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

 CHAPTER 2  
 **THREADING THE NEEDLE**  


After lunch, Donna dragged Jackie into a convenience store. Plastic skeleton hands dangled from the magazine racks, and the place smelled like cigar smoke— _cheap_ cigar smoke, bitter and thoroughly unlike the Montecristos Jackie's father used to light up. The scent left a sour taste on her tongue, and she covered her nose while moving past the tobacco counter.

Only ten minutes had passed since they left The Hub, but she already felt uneasy. She'd agreed on the contest's full rules, putting her palm on her friends' pile of hands. The move sealed her fate, at least for the next few days. Not being able to wrap her thighs around Steven's hips—or take care of herself while she _imagined_ doing that—well, the prospect didn't please her. But the idea of earning six-times her $50 investment pleased her a lot, as would holding out longer than Steven. If she accomplished that, she'd gain some much-needed power.

No, not power. She didn't need to manipulate him, not anymore _._ The thought of it sent tiny shocks through her system. She could still see Steven's pained face behind her eyes, feel his sense of betrayal. It had been there before that night in Chicago, in the basement when she didn't apologize for running away. Within the span of two days, she'd cut out his heart three times: the ultimatum, not waiting to hear his answer, and then Michael...

Yet Steven still took her back.

_"_ _'Cause we both get stupid when we're freaked out,"_ he'd said in the motel room. The night was beaming darkly through the window. The bed pressed sharply against Jackie's calves, but his hands were tender as they cupped her face. " _You freak out 'cause you think I don't care or, um... love..."_

He laughed over the word quietly, as if he were embarrassed by its very existence in his mouth. She imagined taking a chisel to his voice, cutting the precious sentiment free of his defenses until his laughter faded into sadness.

_"But I freak out 'cause I do love you, okay? Too damn much."_

_"Steven..."_ Her chest swelled with something warm, but she said nothing more to him, afraid of jinxing the moment. Things usually worked better between them when she didn't talk.

_"And you forgave me for the nurse,"_ he said, thumbs stroking her ears, _"so this'll balance it out."_

He kissed her then, longer and more deeply than he had in months, and they made love where she almost lost herself to Michael. They'd found each other again on that lumpy bed, after wandering too many back roads slicked over with their mistakes.

No, this challenge couldn't be about power. She and Steven were finally even, and she wanted to keep it that way. Just like the convenience store maintained its profit margin by pairing substandard products with inflated prices.

Jackie was standing by the magazine racks now, flipping through a _Cosmo._ Through the years, she'd read many articles on "How to Please Your Man" and "How to Get Your Man to Please You," but never found anything on what to do "If Your Man Finds You with Your Ex-Boyfriend". She placed the _Cosmo_ back on the rack. She hadn't spotted any articles about abstinence contests, either.

Her breath caught as a witch cackled at her from atop a shelf full of notebooks. The price tag read, $19.95, but who in her right mind would pay twenty dollars for an annoying plastic witch? Bob Pinciotti, probably. He had a bunch of tacky, over-priced things in his attic.

Those particular thoughts, however, Jackie would keep to herself. The one time she dared to mention Bob's inelegant taste, Donna dropped into a rant about Jackie's mom being the ultimate expression of it. But the Burkharts didn't do tacky. The Pinciottis had that covered, and Donna's current location in the convenience store proved Jackie right. Her red head peeked above a high shelf a few racks down. That was the dirty magazine section, and Jackie hesitantly met her there.

"Um... Donna? What are you doing?"

A _Playboy_ sat open in Donna's hands, and she glanced up from it. "Getting ammunition."

"Why?"

"You really think I want this contest to last longer than it has to?"

Jackie glimpsed over Donna's shoulder at the _Playboy._ A pair of bare legs were spread wide on the current page, and Jackie's smile matched it. "So you're gonna cheat," she said. "Oh, Donna, you've made me so proud!"

"No, I'm not going to cheat." Donna stuffed the magazine under her arm, and she moved toward the cashier as Jackie followed. "There's nothing in the rules against laying bait. Eric and I are going back to U.W. tomorrow. A whole week of classes is gonna kill me without any release."

"And looking at porn is gonna help you with that... how?"

"As I said, I'm laying bait.""Oh, yes. This is very good bait," the cashier said. He rung up the _Playboy_ and put it in a discreet paper bag.

Outside, the October air was cold and crisp. Jackie's thin cashmere sweater gave little protection, but she was in no rush. The moment she got back to the Formans', she'd want to sweep her lips over Steven's warm neck and suck on his favorite spot until he groaned with lust, and his fingers dug into her hair with ravenous desire, and he brought his mouth over hers in a—

"Jackie?" Donna, that plaid-wrapped Amazon, nudged her shoulder. "You wanna help me or not?"

"With what?"

Donna's shoulders slumped, as if she'd already explained three times. "I'm gonna slip Miss October into Eric's comics and Hyde's _Rolling Stone._ Those horny dinks'll be out in a second if they see these degrading images around."

A derisive laugh choked Jackie's throat— _the very notion—_ but she held her head high. "That may work on your disgusting boyfriend, but Steven doesn't find those porn-sluts attractive."

"Uh-huh..." Donna stared at her, "and he didn't say Brooke was hot, either."

"Oh!" Jackie's hand shot out and pinched Donna's arm.

"Jackie!"

But Jackie sped up her pace, hair whipping in the wind. The sidewalk stretched before her like a gray thread, endlessly searching for a needle's eye. "I won't let you sabotage Steven that way," she said, "but if you want Eric, Michael, and Fez to fold, be my guest."


	3. Vive La Résistance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

 

CHAPTER 3  
 **VIVE LA RÉSISTANCE!**

Hyde slid his hands beneath Jackie's sweater and locked his fingers over her stomach. Only the thin, satin barrier of her slip stood between their skin, and he tried to ignore it as a _Happy Days_ rerun played on the TV. They were sitting in the basement together— _alone_ —him on his chair and her in his lap. A few subtle movements, and they could've easily gotten each other off. No need to remove their clothes. Some deep kissing and a slow grind would just about do it...

If not for The Rules.

Yeah, the damn contest rules that required full disclosure. The honor system. No getting off _at all,_ man, or it meant disqualification. Even fully-clothed. Even without barely doing anything. Only exception was involuntary wet dreams.

Three-hundred bucks and a shitload of burning opportunities were at risk. No matter how badly he wanted to push Jackie up against the wall, squeeze himself between her thighs, and make them both shake with that frenzied, thought-obliterating high they only ever achieved with each other—denying themselves for a while might deliver some badass rewards.

"Jackie..." his fingers unclasped, and his hands drifted away from her stomach, "maybe we shouldn't be doing this right now."

"Doing what?"

"You on my lap."

"Oh, you mean _this?"_ She glanced back at him with sultry, half-closed eyes and wriggled against his jeans. He groaned—damn it, he couldn't help himself. The friction over his crotch, the sexy-as-hell mischief on her face...

He forced the tortured sound into a word, _"_ _Yeah,"_ and patted the sides of her butt, "that."

"Steven—" She was pouting now and grew still.

Too late. The damage had been done. He leaned back in the chair, shut his eyes, and thought of a pink-lipsticked Forman making out with Fez. But Jackie was still sitting on him, warming his growing hard-on, and his arousal passed into his mind. Forman and Fez transformed into Jackie and himself going at it on the deep freeze, hard and fast.

His eyes opened as he clutched the chair legs. "You really gotta get off my lap, doll."

"Fine." She got up and sat on the couch with her arms crossed.

She was pissed—or upset. Either way, he hadn't meant to hurt her. He just couldn't risk being the first out of this contest. But he needed a better distraction than _Happy Days._ His dick was too hard, and the Fonz's leather jacket wasn't enough to make him go soft.

Some comic books were on the spool table along with a copy of _Rolling Stone_ magazine. Sissy Spacek posed on the cover—good. She didn't do anything for him, and he reached for it.

"Steven, no!" Jackie slapped his hand away.

"Jackie—" He scowled, but her hostility made sense. They'd been back together only a month. "Look, it's not like I _want_ you off me," he said. "We've just gotta sit apart until this thing is over, all right? Forman and Fez are practically addicted to their hands. They'll be out in a day or two."

"Especially with what Donna's got planned." Her tone suggested a conspiracy, and he gestured for her to spill it. "Miss October's inside that magazine. And her 'friends' are in the comics."

"Oh, man..." He was chuckling. "That's genius. So the threat of self-denial brought out Big Red's devious side, huh?"

"Yup." She moved to the couch's armrest, reached out and caressed his knee. "That's why I hit you. I didn't want you to get caught in her vile, lumberjack web." Her voice and touch were gentle, and they glided past his pride.

"You know what?" He grasped her hand, pressed his lips to it. "Screw 'em. They can have my fifty bucks."

She giggled, and her hand turned so her palm faced his mouth. He kissed the soft skin, thankful it was still his to kiss. Pride had cost him a lot, almost too much. So had fear. He didn't like anything putting limits on him, least of all his own damn flaws.

"Let's get nasty," he said. He stood up and pulled her off the couch, drew her into himself, but she pushed against his chest.

"No. I want that money, Puddin', and the privilege of lording our win over everyone's heads."

"'Our' win?"

"Yes. We need to be partners in this, and we need to do it _our_ way."

He smirked, "I like the sound of that," and gave her as platonic a hug as he could manage. But his arms sprang open at the _slam!_ of the basement door.

"Four o'clock, and I am still pure, people!" Forman shouted. "Untouched by woman or hand."

Donna and Fez were following him. A brown paper bag was under Fez's arm, and it moved to his lap as he sat in the lawn chair. "I am pure, too," Fez said.

"Yeah, right." Hyde sat in his own chair again and mimed yanking-off. "You were probably out the second we left The Hub."

"Fez speaks the truth, my friend," Forman said. "He's been with me the whole time, even in the bathroom." He plunked down on the couch, grabbed a _Spider-Man_ comic. "We went to see _Nosferatu the Vampyre,_ and let me tell y—y—yowza." His fingers turned white as he gripped the comic, and his head tilted slightly, as if trying to focus on the page.

Donna didn't hide her grin. She sat by the couch's armrest, keeping Jackie between herself and Forman, and she picked up the copy of _Rolling Stone._ "Wow, there's some really interesting articles in this issue, Hyde. Like this one about Monty Python."

Hyde shrugged. "Already read it."

"You know who really likes Monty Python?" Jackie said. "Fez." She snatched the magazine and tried to pass it to Fez. But Forman was still frozen in place, staring at what had to be a nice set of knockers. Jackie shoved his shoulder, "Earth to Eric—oh, never mind," then tossed the _Rolling Stone_ over his head.

The magazine landed by Fez's feet and sprawled open on the floor. A very naked Ursula Buchfellner skidded from the pages, and Fez seized the ripped-out centerfold as if it were dropped Snickers bar.

"Oh, my God," he said. "Her breasts... they are perfect!"

Gingerly, Forman closed the _Spider-Man_ comic and picked up the copy of _Thor._ He turned the pages until a moronic smile spread across his face. He must have found another naked chick.

Hyde shared his amusement with Jackie, sharing a brief but mirthful glance, and Donna must have caught on because she whispered, "You told him?"

Jackie answered like it was the most obvious question in the world. "D'uh."

Fez, meanwhile, had folded up the centerfold and was frantically searching through the _Rolling Stone._ Forman seemed lost in some kind of fantasy, and neither of them reacted when the basement door banged open. "Guess who totally did it with the bank teller in the back of her car?" Kelso shouted.

"What?" Donna said.

"You're out?" Hyde said.

Kelso didn't appear to hear them. He sat on the couch's armrest, and words bounced from his mouth like ping pong balls. "After we left The Hub, she found me on the street. Her fingers must be trained-up from sorting coins 'cause they unzipped my pants in a second and—"

Jackie grunted. "Michael, are you out or not?"

"Oh, you can't get that deep inside a chick without being out," he said. "When she found me, she said, 'I accept your offer,' and brought me around the corner to her Audi—and then I rode her! The girl, not the car. Oh, and her name's Chantilly. Isn't that awesome?"

"That is _no_ grandmother's name," Fez said. He finally looked up from the _Rolling Stone_ but held the centerfold out in front of him. "And those are not a grandmother's breasts." "She was probably named _after_ her grandmother, though," Donna said. "'Chantilly'? That's, like, a porn star's name."

Hyde shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Donna, don't say 'grandmother' and 'porn' in the same breath. It's—actually, I can use that. Instant salt peter... Thanks."

"Whoa, is that Karen Christy?" Kelso was pointing at Forman's comic. "All right! About time _Thor_ gave us some goddess-boob."

"Miss October definitely has super powers," Fez said. "Over Pepé." He stuffed the centerfold back into the _Rolling Stone_ and put the magazine on the spool table. "I must go." Then he skittered from the basement like a horny mouse, paper bag wedged under his arm.

"Oh, yeah," Hyde nodded at the empty lawn chair, "he's done."

"Well, I'm off, too." Kelso swiped _Thor_ from Forman's hands and replaced it with fifty bucks. "A comic like this needs to be read carefully." Then, like Fez, he was gone.

Hyde was laughing hard and clutching his belly. Forman had grabbed the centerfold from the _Rolling Stone_ and stretched it out before him like a scroll. "Two down, and a third about to join 'em," Hyde said between laughs. "Thanks again, Donna."

"I wouldn't thank her too soon." Forman closed the centerfold and put it on his lap. "Unlike those two horny weaklings, I'm immune to Miss October's powers."

"Then why are you covering your crotch with her?" Hyde said.

"Because it's cold."

"Right." Hyde peered over at Jackie, trying to communicate silently that victory was all but guaranteed. "Ursula's gonna make a nice tent in about ten seconds."

_"_ _Eww!"_ Jackie leapt off the couch and dashed to Hyde's side. "Eric, I order you not to be 'happy' around me. _Ever."_ Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and—as if by instinct—she began to lower herself onto Hyde's lap..

He caught her halfway and shoved her back up. "This lap is closed.""Uh-oh, Donna," Forman said in mock concern, "looks like someone's putting on his chastity belt. What's the matter, Hyde? Having trouble with 'the resistance'?"

"Oh, shut up, Eric!" Jackie marched over to Forman and yanked the centerfold from him. "Donna planted this so you'd get 'busy'."

"What?" Forman turned to Donna. "You tried to take me out? I thought we were on the same side here!"

Donna shrugged. "We never agreed on that."

"So you want me to lose?"

"No. I just want to win."

Forman shot up from the couch, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Oh, yeah? We'll see who wins." He grabbed the _Spider-Man_ comic from the table and pulled the _Playboy_ page from it. "Your attempt at subterfuge disgusts me, missy. That's right..." he crumpled the nudie picture into a ball, "it disgusts me. And I will not stand for it."

"Looks like you're standing to me," Hyde said, and Forman chucked the crumpled page at him. "Also looks like your soldier's standing at attent—"

"Hyde?" Forman traced an imaginary line over his lips. "Zip it." His cheeks had grown red, and his forehead had begun to sweat. He was in full-out, theatrical pissed-mode, and Hyde bit down more laughter as Forman's focus returned to Donna.

"So you think I'll go out easy, huh? Well, you are wrong, lady!I'll show you who can go the longest without powering up his lightsaber. And once I've _won_ this contest, you better flee your village 'cause Volcano Eric is gonna erupt."

Hyde screwed up his face. "Forman!"

"Keep your disgusting thoughts to yourself," Jackie said and retreated behind Hyde's chair.

Donna, though, was staring at Forman. "Wouldn't you want me to stay in my hut?"

From that point on, the basement decayed into an awkward silence. Jackie crossed the room to the lawn chair while Donna and Forman sat on opposite ends of the couch. Forman wore determination on his face like a mask, but he had to be bluffing, man. Super-charged fear amplified a person's defenses. Hyde knew this all too well, and he searched Forman's expression for any sign of weakness.

Nothing.

_Whatever._ Hyde crossed his arms and propped his leg on the mushroom ottoman. Forman would crack sooner or later. Point Place had only so many _Star Wars_ models he could build.

* * *

"Jackie, what are you doing?" Steven said. The light of his bare bulb reflected off his sunglasses, but not for long. He tossed the sunglasses onto his bureau. "It's almost midnight."

Jackie buttoned up her pea coat, "Right," and fluffed out her hair. "It's almost midnight, and I'm going home." She grasped the doorknob, sounding braver than she felt. Visions of her empty, dark house crept through her mind. The creaking boards and whistling pipes were sure to keep her awake all night, as would her touch-starved body. "I'm going home," she repeated, as if it would keep her pulse from speeding up.

"No, you're not." He pulled her hand gently from the doorknob. "Nobody's there."

"My mom'll be back."

"Yeah, in seven months." He began to unbutton her coat, "You ask me, she should _stay_ in Mexico this time," and tossed it onto the armchair. "Fuckin' ridiculous, man."

"I'm used to it," she said, but his fingertips skimmed her jawline, inciting tiny chills at the corner of her lips. She ached to kiss him, but it wouldn't be enough.

"I'm sorry for all that crap I pulled when she was here," he said. His palms were warming her cheeks now with both heat and kindness, forcing the chills southward to her thighs. "Part of my freak-out, I guess. Safer to be an asshole than give you what—"

"Steven, stop it." She pried his hands from her face and stepped back. "Don't be nice to me right now. Don't tell me something I've been waiting to hear from you, not when I can't show you how much it means."

"Okay, um..." his gaze dropped to the concrete floor," Yeah, okay." Then he looked at her again. "Hey, we could stash some pictures of your mom in Forman's backpack. He'll find 'em during class and have to take a 'study break'."

She gave him a thin smile. The idea of Eric losing the contest thanks to her mom nauseated her. She reached for her coat again, but Steven guided her to his cot.

"Come on, Grasshopper. Stick around."

His arms eased around her back as they sat together on the worn mattress. That simple contact made the chills between her thighs turn into throbs. She ran her hands over his faded Hendrix shirt, needing more of a connection. The hard planes of his chest contrasted sharply with the soft fabric covering them. God, how she wanted to rip that shirt off him, to feel his hot skin against her palms, against her lips and tongue.

"If you can't handle me sitting on your lap," she said, "how are you gonna handle me in your cot?"

"We did just fine when you stayed here before."

"Yes, but you could take care of yourself then. You can't do that now. Being that close to me all night, taking in the perfumed scent of my hair, having my creamy skin rub up against you—but not being able to really touch me—you'll wanna touch yourself right out of the contest."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take, and..." he glanced down at himself, "I'm not the one having the problem right now."

Jackie stiffened. Her hands had slipped beneath his shirt, and her palms were pressed against his bare stomach. It felt so good being that close to him, skin-on-skin, exchanging heat. _Forbidden_ heat... She leaned her head back and huffed, forcing herself to withdraw the contact.

But she didn't leave. After they both prepared for sleep, they slid into the cot together. He cuddled into her back with his arm draped over her waist—and a pillow lay between his pelvis and her butt. The barrier did nothing to relieve the insistent throbbing deep inside her, and with her last waking breath, she cursed stupid Eric and his stupid love of Halloween.


	4. Hit the Lights and Shut Your Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. "Get It Up" (P) 1977 SONY BMG MUSIC ENTERTAINMENT.

CHAPTER 4  
 **HIT THE LIGHTS AND SHUT YOUR DOORS**  


_Sunday, October 14_ _th_ _, 1979._

_Point Place, Wisconsin._

_Eric Forman's Basement._

_**…** _

Donna was sitting on the basement couch with her friends, playing an angry game of _Monopoly_. She'd rolled an 8, which brought her pewter wheelbarrow to the Free Parking space. House rules stated she won the pot of money beside it, built from taxes and various other pay-outs. She scooped up the pile with a smug smile, and the cacophony of boos that followed only deepened her satisfaction.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hyde said beside her.

"House rules," she said and began to count her newly-gotten cash.

"Yeah? Well this is Forman's house, and he ain't here, so..." he snatched a fifty from her, "new rule: I get ten percent of every Free Parking pot."

Donna grumbled and fought the urge to sock Hyde in the neck. One night of this damn contest, and he was already cranky—and Jackie wasn't fairing much better. She'd jacked up the price for landing on her properties by 20 percent and cursed whenever she had to dole out any money herself.

Kelso and Fez, though, hadn't resorted to cheating. Kelso seemed perfectly content sitting on Hyde's chair, a grin emerging on his face at regular intervals. His cheerfulness must have stemmed from being out of the contest already... and from the knowledge his friends were still stuck in it.

Fez, on the other hand, looked anything but cheerful. He sat hunched over in the lawn chair, generally listless, moving only to roll the dice and pay out _Monopoly_ money. His skin had a greenish tint, and dark crescents were cut under his eyes, like the shadow of a gibbous moon.

"Fez," Donna said, handing him the dice, "you look terrible."

"You don't look so hot yourself, sister," Fez said. Then he sat up a little, revealing the paper bag on his lap. The bag was bigger than the one from yesterday, and only a few possibilities existed as to what could be inside: Something edible, something perverted—or a combination of the two. "I would like a three," he said and tossed the dice onto the game board. "A five? A _five?_ Sonuvabitch!"

He didn't bother to move his pewter thimble. He didn't have to. Jackie moved it for him, straight to her monopoly. "That'll be $900," she said.

"Oh, you'll get your money... in _hell."_

"Come on, man. Pony up." Hyde reached across Donna and grabbed Fez's money. He counted out $900, gave it to Jackie, who rewarded him with a chaste, closed-mouth kiss.

"Thank you, baby," Jackie said. "I love it when you give me money, even if it's only _Monopoly_ money."

"Hold onto that feeling." He put the remainder of Fez's money back on the spool table, and Fez responded by groaning lightly. "Were you up yanking yourself all night?" Hyde said. "Is that why you look like crap? Did Miss October toss you outta the contest?"

"No. I'm too much of a man to say what I did last night, but it involved two pounds of M&Ms, a bucket, and a lot of tears."

"Man," Kelso said, "I totally thought you were polishing the family jewels last night! Yeah, I heard him through his door, grunting and moaning..." He began to imitate the sounds, and Jackie pinched him— painfully, from the looks of it. _"_ _Damn,_ Jackie! It's not my fault Hyde can resist you. I mean, you two are sitting right next to each other! If you were still with me, you would've been out of that contest ten-times-over already."

"Is that right?" Hyde stood from the couch, leaning slightly forward, fists loosely clenched at his sides. Donna recognized the stance.

"Kelso, I'd run if I were you," she said, but the basement door swung open, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Eric entered the basement with two very full plastic bags. His corduroy coat made him seem more muscular than he actually was, broader-shouldered, and the October wind had mussed his hair just enough to give him a rakish appearance.

_Oh, God,_ he was hot, and Donna squirmed in her seat. She'd been all right with him gone this morning. They were supposed to have driven back to Kenosha so they could actually get some studying done. But he'd insisted on preparing himself for "the long haul" and raced from the house after breakfast.

"All right, Donna," he said, standing in front of the spool table, "I scoured the Point Place yard sales, and I got myself a whole bunch of model cars and a ton of super glue. So I'm ready for this contest. That's right—I am ready!"

Hyde gestured at him. "Looks like you're also ready for a diaper change 'cause you are scared shitless, man."

"Burn!" Kelso shouted.

Eric blinked and sputtered, and he shook his head, all in an attempt to convey his objection. But he _was_ scared, and Donna had been the one to make him that way. The thought turned her on a little, the power she had over her horny nerd-boy...

_No,_ she couldn't afford to be turned on, and her hand clenched over her _Monopoly_ deed cards. She had to resist, to think about the paper she needed to finish and the chapter still unread in her journalism textbook. "Eric, we should get going," she said and sprang off the couch. "Lots of work to do."

She headed for the door, and as she slipped passed Eric, he said, "Do I detect a hint of tension in your voice?"

She stopped, "Oh, Eric..." turned to him. "Eric..." Then her tone shifted to one she knew he liked, and her fingers brushed his cheek, "Oh, Eric. _Eric..."_ her lips grazed his ear, _"_ _Eric, I need... to write my American Lit. paper."_ She moved away from him again with a smirk.

Eric stood paralyzed as the basement erupted in laughter. Even Fez perked up enough to laugh. But the paralysis broke, and Eric said—more squeaky than resolute, "She has no affect on me," and quickly followed her out the door.

* * *

_Tuesday, October 16_ _th_ _, 1979._

_Kenosha, Wisconsin._

_Eric and Donna's Apartment._

_**...** _

Sleeping in the same room with Eric—let alone the same bed—had become impossible. Despite that he'd already finished three of his car models, thrown himself more deeply into his college work, and joined a casual on-campus volleyball team, his horny levels were off the charts. Two nights of his sleep-humping against Donna's back, and she kicked him out.

She lay alone in their bed surrounded by quiet darkness, a perfect breeding ground for unwanted thoughts. During the volleyball game today, Eric's shorts had clung to his tiny butt perfectly. The sweat dripping off his brow and all the effort he put into serving reminded her of his devoted spirit. He put his whole heart into the causes he believed in, like _Star Wars_ appreciation and making her feel good during sex. His own needs were always second to him, like he couldn't get off unless she was taken care of.

She shifted in the bed. Her flannel pajamas felt too constricting now, and her hand slipped below the waistband of her pants. Normally, she slept naked, but with this damn contest, she couldn't risk it.

After a moment, her hand retreated to the safety of the bed sheets. _The contest._ Eric was devoted to that, too—to _winning_ it. But he wanted to be scared this Halloween, and she was determined to give him the scare of his life.

* * *

_Friday Night, October 19_ _th_ _, 1979._

_Kenosha, Wisconsin._

_Eric and Donna's Living Room._

_**...** _

Donna sat across from Eric at their small dining table. She was working hard on her Music and Society homework, just to get it over with. Eric, though, had his fingertips covered in dried super glue. A half-built car model lay before him, and his eyes were narrowed in concentration.

That pinched expression usually reminded her of a rodent. His upper lip curled up a bit and exposed his two front teeth, his nose was wrinkled, and his cheekbones stuck out, but today all she saw was freakin' Steven Tyler. The Aerosmith record playing in the background didn't help matters either, and she pushed her homework aside.

"What kind of car is that?" she said.

"When I'm done," he said and glued on a headlight, "it'll be an exact replica of Dick Trickle's 1968 Ford Torino."

"Wow... that's amazing."

His fingers were so nimble, the way he attached those tiny plastic pieces together, and his attention was so precise, noticing _to the millimeter_ when a hubcap was off-center.

"Yeah..." He glanced up at her. "Donna, why are you looking at me that—"

With a sweep of her arm, her homework and the model car crashed to the floor. She dove stomach-side down onto the table, grasped Eric's shirt collar, and yanked him in for a kiss. His surprise gave way to enthusiasm, and his tongue met hers in an intense but all-too-brief connection.

"Wait," he pulled away from her, "what are you doing?"

"Let's just forget this stupid contest," she said and scooted closer to him. Her breasts pushed into the table's edge painfully, but Steven Tyler's voice fired up a much stronger pain. "I need you, Eric... _now."  
_ Her hand cupped the back of his neck and drew him back in. Their lips joined hungrily and didn't break contact as she rose to her knees on the table. She could've taken him right there, but he pulled away again after a few ravenous kisses.

"Oh, you're a wily one, Pinciotti," he said and wiped his mouth, "but I won't give in to the Horny Side." He picked his car model off the floor and set it down beside Donna on the table. "Three hours of work... Well, at least now I'll have more to keep me busy. I'm running out of models."

"Eric—"

He put up his hand. "Speak to me not, fair temptress! I must flee this den of... of... naughty parts."

"What?" She chuckled, couldn't help herself. He was so cute when riled up.

"I'll be at the movies." He grabbed his coat by the front door. "I suggest you spend your time thinking about boundaries and personal space."

He slammed the door on his way out, leaving her alone with only Steven Tyler's voice for company. _"_ _For your fantasies, my ass don't speculate,"_ he sang to her. _"_ _I'm just your slave, your master's bait."_

She stared at the door from her vantage point on the table. Eric's tenacious self-control made him so damn sexy, so much more _manly_ than she was used to...

"Oh, God—" She dropped down to her butt, pushed herself from the table, and fled into the bedroom.


	5. Bank Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 5  
 **BANK SHOT**  


Eric and Donna were standing on his parents' back porch, and his grin felt a mile-wide. One cheek had to be touching the Water Tower, and the other must've bulged to the reservoir—because no way could his face contain the glee spilling from him. He couldn't suppress it either, even with Donna's hostile shoves at his backpack.

"Did you have to bring that with you?" she whispered and shoved him again.

"Yes, yes..." He slid open the kitchen's glass door, and the smell of homemade waffles only strengthened his contentment. Last night had been one of the best nights in the history of time. Seeing Donna on their bed, flushed from exertion because of _him—_ it was a beautiful sight, and one he wouldn't soon forget.

"Eric, Donna!" His mother, Kitty, peered up from the kitchen sink, expression bright. "You're home! My baby's home!"

"Hello, family!" Eric's arms opened in greeting, addressing the entire kitchen, and his father responded with the usual morning grimace. Red was seated at the table, forking waffles onto his plate as if they were a bunch of bloodthirsty Communists, but Eric's tone remained cheerful. "How are you on this fine Saturday? A fine, _fine_ Saturday, indeed. The best October 20th that I can remember in, oh, so many years."

"No matter how far they move away," Red said, "they always manage to make it to breakfast." He pointed his fork at Jackie, who was sitting across from him. "This one, who's been here every damn morning the week," the fork moved over to Hyde, "and _this_ one, who's the reason for _that_ one being here." Then his fork jabbed up at Eric and Donna, "and _these two._ Don't you have a cafeteria you can aggravate?"

"Not on the weekends," Eric said and pulled out a chair for Donna. His lady deserved it after the gift she gave him last night. He was so high on satisfaction that even Red's foul mood couldn't bring him down.

Kitty seemed to share Eric's sentiment. She was dancing happily to some bouncy tune, one only she could hear, as she placed bottles of syrup on the table. Then she sat down between Red and Eric. "Don't listen to Mr. Sourpuss," she said, rubbing the top of Eric's hand. "I'm so glad the both of you could make it for breakfast."

Beside the syrup were a plate of sausages and a pitcher of orange juice. Hyde took the pitcher, poured himself a glass, and Jackie raised her glass, as if waiting for it to be filled. Hyde, though, put the pitcher back down on the table.

"Steven," Jackie said, and her tone darkened, "pour me a glass of juice."

"Pour it yourself."

"Fine." She pinched Hyde's bare forearm and grabbed his glass from him. Then she took a slow, deliberate swallow. "Thank you, _Puddin',"_ she said, licking orange juice from her upper lip.

"Yeah?" He was glaring at her. "Well, fu—"

_"_ _Steven,"_ Red's silverware clanked to his plate, "you have been sniping at each other all week. Whatever the hell's wrong with you two, resolve it—or _I'll_ resolve it with my foot in both your asses."

"Believe me, man, I'd _love_ to," Hyde said. He picked up Jackie's empty glass, poured himself some juice, but his glare shifted to Eric. "Forman, you're looking dumber than usual."

"Why, thank you, 'Puddin','" Eric said. His grin hadn't retreated a whit. "Jackie, is your unicorn still on your shelf?"

Jackie kept her focus on her plate and cut into her waffles. "Gathering dust thanks to your stupid Halloween contest."

"Contest?" Kitty said. "What contest?"

"Oh, uh..." Eric looked to Donna for help, but she drank from her glass of juice, offering nothing more than a shrug. "We're competing to see who can keep from playing with their toys. Whoever goes longest gets—"

"Toys." Red shook his head. "I don't understand why a grown man needs dolls—"

_"_ _Action figures."_ Eric's fist curled beneath the table. No matter how many times he told Red the difference, Darth Vader with his retractable lightsaber would never get any respect. But such things were of little concern right now. Eric doused his waffles with syrup and attended to more pressing business. "Hyde, you've kept your hands off your Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots?"

"No heads have been poppin' off," Hyde said, "though I'm gonna punch yours if you don't get that freakin' smile off your face. How much milk have you spilled back at your apartment?"

"I haven't spilled a thing, my friend. However..." Eric reached below the table and unzipped his backpack. A moment later, a half-melted candle stood in front of his plate.

Hyde and Jackie both stared at the candle; then they stared at Donna, and the beginnings of a smirk crept at the corners of Hyde's mouth. "Big Red is out?"

"Yes, I'm out," Donna said. Her face was bright pink—just like last night when Eric found her naked on their bed. "I never should've put on that Aerosmith record."

"Wait, Donna caved before _Eric?"_ Jackie shoved her plate away. "Thanks. Now I've lost my appetite."

Hyde brought her plate back. "This is good news, man. Two down, two to go."

"Fez isn't out?" Eric's grin finally waned. "That's impossible."

"All right, enough." Red said. "You're _all_ about to be out of my kitchen if you don't shut up. Got it?"

Eric nodded, and the conversation dried up—along with his appetite. How could Fez not be out? Fez, who got turned on by old-lady feet? Whose hand once froze in a C-shape due to too much self-love? It had to be a lie, a damnable lie.

* * *

Fez sat on the trunk of the Vista Cruiser, examining Donna's half-melted candle. His face looked rounder than usual—bloated, even. And though his shirts were normally tight on him, today's long-sleeved polo seemed two sizes too small. Eric wasn't pleased. In fact, he was downright _dis_ pleased. Fez did not appear like a man who'd been enjoying himself in the least, which meant Eric still had three people to outlast.

His breath felt tight in his chest, and his skin prickled as a stray hair landed on his wrist. All his senses had gone into overdrive, as if his body were preparing for a fight. A week was the longest he'd ever gone without release. To go another... The prospect clouded his mind, and soon his thoughts resembled the gray, mid-morning sky.

He turned away from Fez, who'd begun to fondle the candle. Hyde and Kelso were playing a noisy game of basketball in the driveway, and Hyde seemed way off his game, missing too many easy baskets. He scored only when Kelso stopped to laugh at him.

"Dude," Kelso said between laughs, "did you miss the first time you did it with Jack—"

Hyde hurled the basketball at Kelso's face, eliciting a loud cry of pain. "Didn't miss that time," he said and gathered the ball back up. Then he made an impressive shot off the backboard. .

Eric began to relax, absorbed in the back-and-forth taunting between his friends, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. "You let Donna get all needy and did not participate in filling those needs?" Fez said and gave him back the candle. "You are a bastard."

Eric put the candle into his backpack. "Why?"

"Because you're still in the contest, you sonuvabitch!" Fez hopped off the 'Cruiser and ran at him. "I haven't slept in five days!" he said, reaching for Eric's neck, but Kelso stepped in just in time. He slung an arm around Fez's waist and pulled him back. "Ai..." Fez glanced down, "this is the most action I have had in months."

"Whoa!" Kelso's arm sprang off him. "No more of that kinda stuff. We had an agreement!"

A sigh flew from deep within Eric's body, along with all traces of victory. If Fez could keep from touching his own fun parts, Hyde would definitely last another week. And Jackie—Eric knew absolutely nothing of her self-denial capabilities.

An argument kicked up between Kelso and Fez about something that made Hyde laugh, but Eric's focus was elsewhere. He peered over the thick hedge dividing his parents' property from the Pinciottis'. Bob had decorated his yard with a fake witch and bubbling cauldron, some cheesy ghosts made from bedsheets, and glowing jack-o'-lanterns. As kids, Eric and his friends used to sit in that yard at night, telling ghost stories, seeing who could scare each other the best. Why the hell did he miss that feeling so much?

Staring at the carved, jagged faces of Bob's pumpkins brought him no answers. His attention returned to the driveway. Hyde had jammed the basketball under his arm, skulked up behind Fez, and whispered something in his ear. Fez's eyes widened. Then he scurried into the garage and escaped through the back door.

"What did you say to him?" Eric said.

"Don't ask." Hyde tossed the basketball at the hoop. The ball rolled around the rim a few times before falling in, but all Eric saw was his own decapitated head, plunging through endless space.

* * *

Jackie crammed chalk onto her cue stick and twisted it around the tip. The smell of cigarettes irritated her nose, and the loud clack of billiard balls bit at her ears, but Steven had wanted to spend the afternoon at the pool hall, so she sucked it up. Being with him—however she _could_ be with him—was better than being without him. Plus, her playing pool sent an important message: He was damn lucky to have such a dynamic woman. She never wanted him to be bored with her, and how could he be? Her skills were as varied as they were incredible. _Very._

Steven took his shot, hitting the cue ball into the purple four-ball. Both sped close to the side pocket, but neither went in, bouncing instead off the pocket's edge and rolling slowly away from each other.

"Damn it." He grabbed chalk from the pool table and slammed it onto his cue stick.

A few tables away, a group of rowdy players cheered at something. Jackie wanted to march over there and kick them each in their 'nads. All week, her pent-up energy had been leaking out at the wrong target—her Puddin' Pop—and she needed to channel it elsewhere.

She began to line up her shot with as much concentration as she could muster, walking around the table to find the best angle. "This is ridiculous," she said. "I can't believe your disgusting ploy on Fez didn't work."

"Yeah..." Steven was still chalking up his stick. "Had the perfect setup, too. The dude's determined."

"Well, I'm getting sick of keeping myself from you." She found her shot—the yellow one-ball, corner pocket—but she'd have to bend over the table at an awkward angle. "I'm gonna take this into my own hands."

"You're forfeiting?"

"No," she said, getting into position. "I want that 300 dollars, especially—" she stretched her back arm painfully behind her, but her stroke was smooth, "after a whole week of living like a nun... Oh, yeah!" The cue ball struck the rubber cushion then careened into the one-ball, knocking it into the corner pocket.

Steven's mouth fell open a little. "How the hell did you make that shot?" His fingers had turned blue from chalk powder, and he clapped his hands to clean them. "Man, that was so badass."

Jackie merely winked at him and went searching for her next shot.

They moved to the smoky bar once they finished their game. Steven ordered them both a beer, and she cupped his knee, hoping the contact would make him more agreeable. "Baby, in order for my plan to work, you can't be in the basement tonight. Everyone's gonna be there to watch _Saturday Night Live,_ but you can't be."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Trust me," she said, and squeezed his knee. "Go throw rocks at windows or something. Just don't be in the basement. I won't need long, ten minutes at the most."

"You want me to trust you?" He was using his soft voice, the one that never failed to push her into a lusty haze. His eyes were probably soft, too—not that she could see them behind his sunglasses. "All right, " he said after a moment, and his hand slid over hers gently, "you got it."

Her throat tightened. She'd longed for him to get to this point, to have faith that she wouldn't hurt him. He'd grown so much so quickly, and the joy of it threatened to overwhelm her. She yearned to hop off her barstool, straddle his lap, and let her kiss explain how she felt.

Instead, she vowed silently to make Eric Forman crumble.

* * *

At 11:15 P.M., Steven slipped out of the basement, and Jackie was left alone in his room. She'd done the majority of her preparation in the shower this morning, but she took some time to fix her makeup and hair, get appropriately dressed—and steel herself against what she was about to do.

She entered the basement a few minutes later, wearing her green-and-white cheer uniform. Michael and Donna occupied the corners of the couch with Eric between them. Fez was in his usual place, the lawn chair, and on his lap sat a paper bag. He'd carried along a bag since the contest began, and it seemed to get fatter each day, just like him. His will must have been growing weaker. He was ready to burst.

_Perfect._

Jackie licked her lips and stepped in front of the TV. It was now or never.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Michael said. "Eric Idle's hosting _Saturday Night Live."_

Jackie's pom-poms were in her hands, and she raised them into a high V. "I need to practice," she said. "I'm applying to get into U.W. this spring, and I've got an audition with the cheer squad." She shifted the pom-poms into a left diagonal then a right diagonal. "If I can get a recommendation from the Rangers' cheer coach, I'll be one step closer to being a college girl."

"That's great." Eric was gesturing to the basement door. "Go practice somewhere elllll..." He grew quiet as Jackie jumped into the air, legs spread wide in a toe-touch split.

"Eric?" Donna turned to him. "You know what she's trying to do, right?"

"Uh-huh..." Eric said, and Jackie performed a high kick. "Go, Rangers!"

"Aw, man," Michael said, "I remember when I used to watch you practice."

Jackie continued to offer up various jumps and even lifted her skirt, giving them a flash of her bright bikini bottoms. Eric applauded her efforts, and Kelso whistled, but Fez remained silent. His fingers were clutching the paper bag, making his knuckles grow pale. He and Eric were exactly where she wanted them. She pulled off her white cheer top, revealing her bikini top.

"Jackie!" Donna said, but Jackie wriggled out of her green cheer skirt and kicked it aside. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Huh?" Jackie glanced down at herself. Her magenta-swirled bikini looked fantastic against her olive-toned skin. How Steven had resisted her this long, she'd never know. How she'd resisted _herself_ this long was a miracle. Her own beauty often made her flush with excitement. "Oh, I went to a sample sale and got a jump on summer." She strutted to and fro in front of the spool table, making sure to sway her hips, and shifted her voice to its most sultry tone. "Do you think this bikini works with my body?"

"Oh, yeah..." Eric's eyes were glassy, and his mouth had become slack. He didn't tear his stare away, even when Donna hit his shoulder.

The basement's door slammed closed seconds later. Jackie looked over to the lawn chair. Fez was gone.

Donna picked up the couch's ratty green blanket. "You are such a cheater!" she said, wrapping the blanket around Jackie's body.

"A little cheating never hurt anyone," Michael said.

Jackie tried to pull the blanket off her, "Oh, whatever," but Donna's grip on it was too strong. "It's not like you didn't cheat by slipping Miss October everywhere."

Michael laughed. "That was you? Why didn't you just wear a bikini? Man, Eric would've been out in a second... right, Eric?"

But Eric didn't answer—because Eric wasn't in the basement anymore. He'd dashed up the stairs.

"My work here is done." Jackie smirked and finally freed herself from Donna's grasp. "I'd like my winnings in small bills," she swept the blanket around her in a flourish, "so I can swim in it." Then she returned to Steven's room to bask in her cleverness.

* * *

Hyde walked into his room a half-hour after he'd left. Jackie was on his cot, enveloped by the couch's green blanket. Everything but her face was hidden. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes pressed against each other, and a smile he didn't trust danced on her lips. He tossed his corduroy jacket onto the armchair and watched her for a minute.

When her smile deepened into a giggle, he finally spoke. "What's going on?"

Her eyes popped open, round with surprise, "Oh!" but then her expression melted back into satisfaction. "I just guaranteed our victory."

"Yeah?" He tried to find the hem of the blanket and couldn't. Jackie was completely wrapped in it like a green mummy. "You better be wearing a thick sweatshirt and sweatpants under there."

He crawled onto the cot and straddled her hips—where he guessed her hips were—and dug his fingers beneath the blanket's upper edge. She squirmed between his thighs like a thick slug, shouting at him to stop. But he managed to fold down the top-half of the blanket, and the sight of her barely-covered breasts sent fire into all his nerve-endings.

He leapt off the cot and tore the rest of the blanket from her body. Small triangles of fabric covered three of his favorite parts, but otherwise, she was naked.

"You were trying to seduce them?" His pounding heart sent too much blood coursing south. He shut his eyes in an attempt to regain control. "Crap, were they getting off on you?"

"Not in front of me!" She sat up and took his Ted Nugent shirt from his dresser. Then she pulled it over her body. "They're both probably diddling themselves in private right now."

"Just like you were?"

"How did—" Her voice hitched, just like her breathing. "I didn't come, so it doesn't count."

"Right."

Hyde thundered from his room, mind and body raw with crackling lightning. He couldn't deal with Jackie, not right now. His lust for her clashed with his anger, and the mix proved too volatile to shield himself against. He needed an outlet, and kicking someone's ass would do nicely.

Donna and Kelso were sitting in the basement, but neither of them were the right target. "Where's Forman?" Hyde said.

"After your girlfriend's little stunt," Donna pointed to the wooden stairs, "he ran out of here like a man on fire."

Kelso nodded. "I'd check the upstairs bathroom."

Hyde charged up the wooden staircase, barreled up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. Forman's bedroom door was open, but the bathroom was closed. He tried opening it, twisting the door knob to no success, so he banged on the door.

"Forman!"

"I'm busy!" a high-pitched voice squeaked from inside.

"Like hell." Hyde jetted into Forman's room and found his jar of giant paper clips. He bent a paper clip into a _de facto_ lock pick. Then he went back to the hallway. He jimmied the bathroom lock in moments and yanked open the door. "You better not be jacking off using Ja—"

Eric was sitting on the closed toilet seat with a TIE fighter model on his lap. The only thing clutched in his hand was a tube of crazy glue. "I keep _Star Wars_ models in the bathroom, okay? In case of emergency." He moved the TIE fighter to the sink, and a piece of plastic fell onto the floor. "Great, now I have to re-glue that laser canon!"

The sight of Forman all sweaty and red-faced while obsessing over a hunk of plastic made Hyde laugh and spawned a hundred burns. But before he could get any out, the door slammed in his face.

* * *

Hyde returned to the basement, and his scowl must have kept Donna and Kelso from asking anything. They let him retreat to his room in peace, but Jackie piped up immediately: "Is Eric out?"

"Yeah... of his mind."

He eased into the armchair and pulled off his boots. Jackie was dressed in her flannel pajamas now, but he'd be sleeping in his jeans tonight—like he had the last six nights.

Having her so close to him, the temptation was too great without a physical barrier. His shaft had already grown thick with arousal, bolstered by her moves at the pool hall. She knew exactly when to put English on the ball, had sunk difficult shots. Man, everything she'd done today was incredibly hot. Only anger prevented him from cooling himself off.

"Steven..." Jackie was sitting cross-legged on the cot, and her gaze fell to the space between her legs. "Steven, I—"

"How 'bout I go parade myself naked in front of a bunch of chicks?" he said and stood from the chair. He grabbed a white undershirt from his drawer. "Oh, hey, I could bring Fez to a nudie bar and get a lap dance out of 'solidarity'. Winning is worth the sacrifice, right?"

"Baby," she touched his arm, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used myself as bait."

"No, you shouldn't have." He was changing into the undershirt. "It didn't work anyway, 'least not on Forman."

"What?" Shock registered on her face, but she held her head high, jutted out her chin. "I'm Jackie Burkhart, all any man desires." Then her gaze fell again, and her lower lip plumped out in a pout. "Well, I used to be."

She tugged absently at the cot's blanket, and her breaths became sullen, making her chest rise and fall like slowly crashing waves. His own breath sped up in response. She wasn't supposed to look that way. This girl, she was the most vibrant chick he'd ever known—a spark. She brought much-needed light to the shadowed, cobwebbed corners of his heart, sometimes setting him on fire, sometimes devouring him in her heat. To see her so defeated, _doused—_ for a damn contest? It wasn't right.

"You're sure as hell all _I_ want," he said.

She perked up her head. "Really?"

He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down past his knees, along with his boxers. His erection, too long locked away, was free—but only superficially. He could do nothing to truly release it. The mental chains he'd put on himself hadn't been broken. They cut deeply into his still-swelling hard-on, causing him actual pain. He glanced down. "My balls are gonna be freakin' blue for days."

"No, they won't." Jackie sprang from the cot and flung her arms around his back. She kissed him fiercely, fingers clawing beneath his shirt, stomach pressing against his rigid shaft. The pressure of her lips and tongue was relentless, and as she pulled him impossibly deeper into her mouth, his mental chains grew brittle until they snapped.


	6. Rousing the Bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 6  
 **ROUSING THE BEAR**  


_Sunday Morning, October 21_ _st_ _, 1979._

_Point Place, Wisconsin._

_Eric Forman's Basement._   
**…**

This morning's sermon at church happened to be about chastity, and Eric paid special attention as Pastor Dan sprinkled in the _Star Wars_ analogies. A Jedi's devotion should not be split between the Force and carnal desire, Pastor Dan had said, and Eric clung to that thought on the drive home. If anyone would need the Force this next week, it was him.

The Vista Cruiser arrived at his parents' house. The engine shut off with its usual grumble, and he exited to the driveway without any naughty ideas. The only feelings flowing through him were gratitude and confusion. Donna had let Bob sit between them—hence, the gratitude—because Red insisted on driving; hence, the confusion. But once they gathered on the porch, his parents exchanged secret looks he recognized all too well. They were the same kind he and Donna usually exchanged after sermons about Godly self-denial—

They were "Let's have super-hot sex, baby!" looks.

Kitty, though, seemed able to deny herself a bit longer. She grasped Eric's hand tenderly, "Thank you for going to church with us this morning, sweetie," and gave his cheek a peck. Then she turned to Red. "Honey, will you check the bureau in our bedroom? It's so wobbly."

"It just needs a good shimming," Red said and snaked his arm around her shoulders. "I'll make sure to give, uh..." he cleared his throat, "the _bureau_ exhaustive attention. Won't botch it with a rush job."

"Oh, Red! You're so attentive when you—" She stopped mid-speech, probably spotting the disturbed, slack-mouthed expression on Eric's face, "take care of our furniture. Let's go."

She and Red chased each other into the kitchen and through the swinging door. The sight repulsed Eric into nausea, and Bob's observant, "I think they're about to have sex!" made him gag a little. But his disgust was a good thing. It prevented dirty thoughts from sprouting like weeds inside his skull.

"Donna," Bob said, "I need your advice on my Halloween costume. I wanna know if I put too many tassels on my Elvis cape." He headed toward their own house and gestured for her to follow.

"Sure, Dad. Be there in a sec." But as soon as Bob was out of sight, she cupped Eric's shoulder and kissed him gently with a closed-mouth.

The nerves surrounding his lips prickled, sending the signal to open his mouth and storm hers with his tongue. "Okay!" he shouted in alarm and pushed her off him. "None of that, missy. One of us is still in this contest."

Her face broke into a grin, the affectionate, amused kind she so often gave him.

"Don't smile, either," he said.

"Eric—"

"Or say my name."

She twirled halfway around from him, hair fanning out in a brilliant orange halo. Her body language read annoyed, but her laughter told him otherwise. "Okay, okay," she said once she calmed down. "I'll be a good girlfriend and do my best not to turn you on."

He placed a hand over his heart. "That's all a man could ask for."

"But you do realize how screwed up all this sounds, right?"

"It's a topsy-turvy world, Donna, when honor, money, and sex get involved. Those three things shouldn't mingle with each other, and yet—in our sick, perverted society—they do."

Donna started to laugh again, giggling laughter. Her fingertips grazed his cheek, the beginnings of his name escaped her lips until she swallowed it down.

"Yeah... that's definitely not gonna work," he said. Each of her giggles were planting seeds in his mind. They threw out roots, threatened to burst through the soil of his thoughts and bloom into flowers. The only planticide he had was the memory of his parents going at it like animals on _Wild Kingdom,_ sweaty and groaning.

Silently, he took hold her hips then spun her toward her house. She must have gotten the idea because she left him under her own power, even as her laughter grew stronger.

All eventually became quiet, and he moved beneath the basketball hoop. He stared up through the netting, at the circle of blue sky inside the plastic rim. His heart was pounding against his ribs— _giggling_ against his ribs. Donna's laughter could touch him in places he never knew existed, but he found no delight in it today. A dull patina had crusted over all his joy.

* * *

Eric entered the basement expecting to find Hyde and Jackie occupying different corners of it. Instead, the pair were half-naked on the couch, going at it like Luke and Leia on the Death Star—well, the Death Star of Eric's fantasies. They clearly hadn't expected him to be home yet, and he watched for half-a-minute, weighing his options by the wooden staircase. If he didn't interrupt, they'd probably hump themselves right out of the contest. If he stuck around for "verification purposes" as Fez liked to call it, they wouldn't be able to hide that little fact either.

Jackie let out a breathy moan as Hyde's mouth sucked the skin behind her earlobe. Must have been a sensitive spot, and Eric's fingernails dug into the stairs' wooden post. Unlike Fez, he'd never wanted to see a porn starring his friends. He had to get the hell out of here.

He crept up the first five steps, but when he reached the sixth, it creaked.

"Oh, my God." Jackie shoved Hyde off her, and Eric caught a glimpse of her bare breasts before she pulled Hyde back on top of her. "Steven, get my bra—my bra!"

"Shit." Hyde's hand searched the couch's top edge blindly, and he grabbed his own shirt. "Forman, get the hell outta here!"

"I was _trying_ to!"

Eric dashed halfway up the stairs, but the basement's back door slammed open. Fez scudded inside with a basketball-sized paper bag under his arm. "Who is out?" he shouted. "Someone better be out, or I will _make_ you be out!"

Jackie sat up, hugging Hyde's shirt to her chest. "Help me!" she said, and Hyde snatched up her bra and blouse. Then the two of them fled to his room.

Fez, though, marched across the basement and up the twelve stairs to Eric. "Are they out?" Fez said. His voice was deeper than usual, a little hoarse. The dark circles from yesterday remained beneath his eyes. When Eric didn't answer, Fez jabbed his shoulder. "Tell me, or I will have to hurt you."

"I don't know, all right?" Eric moved past him to the bottom of the staircase and flopped onto the couch. His butt landed on something small and crinkly, "What the—?" and he pulled the annoyance from the cushion. It was an unopened, foil-wrapped condom. "Damn it, Hyde!"

His throat closed up, and his stomach clenched, and his toes curled inside his shoes. With the power of a thousand Hulks, he hurled the condom at the closed door of Hyde's room.

It was only a half-consolation that the condom hadn't been used. The good half, he didn't have to touch Hyde's love nectar. The bad half, Hyde and Jackie were both probably still in the contest.

He couldn't sit on the couch anymore, though. It had been tainted yet again with Hyde and Jackie's unholiness. He headed for Hyde's chair then thought better of it. Their disgusting tryst had probably started there. Fez was already by the lawn chair, so that was a no-go. Only one safe surface left: the deep freeze. He hopped onto it, and the soapy, somewhat acrid smell of detergent stung his nostrils. The laundry shelves above him were stocked with Tide. One of the boxes had been knocked over, spilling powder onto the dryer.

Fez was staring at the couch. "They have to be out," he said. "They were all sweaty."

"If they're not out," Eric said, "they're _gonna_ be, like, any second. Oh, hey, guess who saw Jackie's boobs?"

"You bastard!" Fez sprang from the chair, knocking it over in the process. "I have been trying to see those for years! She has always outsmarted me... unlike _your_ woman."

"Okay, Fez, do you really wanna go there?"

"Yes, I _would_ like to go there." Fez put the paper bag down on the couch and mimed squeezing a pair of breasts. "I would also like to do this." His tongue darted from his mouth, waggled in the air.

Hyde and Jackie returned just as Fez's hips began to swivel. They were wearing their own clothes, and Hyde said, "Fez, quit making out with your invisible girlfriend."

_"_ _Eww..."_ A sour expression took over Jackie's face. "He used to do that all the time."

"At least I take longer than two minutes to satisfy a woman." Fez reclaimed his paper bag, righted the fallen lawn chair, and sat down again. "You were not in your room very long."

"That's 'cause we didn't finish, man." Hyde walked past the couch to Eric, slipped a hundred dollars into his hand. "Here ya go, Forman."

"Wait, you just said you didn't finish," Eric said.

"Not now. But we sure as hell did last night—three times."

A cautious smile threaded across Eric's lips. "So you're out? You're admitting defeat?"

"Yup."

"Steven 'I-Feel-Nothing' Hyde couldn't keep it in his pants longer than The Kid?"

"Yeah."

"Wow!" Eric laughed a deep sort of laugh only triumph could bring. "I can't believe it. I was sure you'd last until Christmas." His laughter continued to roll out of him until it faded into lightheaded introspection. "Wow... I'm stronger than you."

"You keep thinking that if it helps get you by." Hyde sat on his chair and gestured for Jackie to join him. She plunked herself on his lap, looking quite cheerful as his hands clasped over her stomach. "By the way," he angled his head toward Eric, "our second round last night was on the deep freeze."

"What?" Eric glanced up at the laundry shelves. The spilled Tide detergent... "Oh, God!" He flew off the deep freeze, "Is nothing in this basement sacred?" and retreated to the staircase. The third wooden step would have to be his safety spot now, even as revulsion re-strengthened in his stomach.

But it wasn't all bad. The hundred dollars in his pocket meant only one person was left to beat. And that person had to be close to his breaking point. Fez looked like hell, puffy and exhausted.

Hyde and Jackie's half-whispered chatter soon filled the room, but Fez's sobs churned beneath it. With a flounce, Jackie got off Hyde's lap and turned on the TV. _Charlie's Angels_ shimmered onto the screen. The theme song blocked some of Fez's cries, and the Angels' bountiful bouncy breasts made Eric push his forehead into the basement's stone wall.

His mind and body might have been at war with each other, but Fez had become a wraith, a bloated, rage-fueled wraith. Eric needed to do something, to push him over the edge before the day was up. Or else it would be another week of torturous self-denial. Especially torturous since the U.W. campus was about to get deep into the Halloween spirit.

"Hey, why is Fez crying?" Kelso strode into the basement like a satisfied man, a slight kick to his step, eyes bright. He sat on the couch by Fez. "What's wrong, buddy?"

Fez peered up. His tear-stained cheeks glinted in the basement's light. "Oh, I am relieved. Hyde and Jackie are out."

"What?" Kelso turned his attention to Hyde and Jackie. "You two did it?"

Hyde nodded with a smirk, and Jackie put up three fingers.

"Wait, you're out _three_ times?" Kelso held up his own three fingers and examined them. They didn't seem to please him. "You never did it with _me_ three times in a row. What a freakin' gyp!"

"Yeah, can you believe it?" Eric said from the stairs. "They're out while The Kid's keeping a slow and steady pace to win the race—" Everyone's attention was turned to him now, as if they had no idea what he was talking about. "You know, like _The Tortoise and the Hare."_

"'The Kid'?" Kelso chuckled derisively. "You're still trying to make that one stick?"

"Yup," Hyde said. "He doesn't know when to let go of things."

Eric scowled, but Fez's face finally lit up. "Ooh, maybe he will grab onto his manhood and not know when to let go of that, either." Fez closed his fist. "Use the Force, Eric," he said in a mocking pitch, and his fingers opened slightly only to furl again. "Help me, muscle-relaxant, you're my only hope."

The basement exploded into a laugh-fest with Jackie giggling and Hyde snickering. Kelso was still chuckling from before, and Fez joined him.

"No!" Eric shouted and stood from his safety spot on the stairs. "I'm not the one you should be making fun of." He gesticulated wildly at Hyde and Jackie. "It's _them_ who couldn't keep their hands off each other. _Them,_ not me. I know how to resist the irresistible. I've conquered the unconquerable—"

"Have you dreamed the impossible dream?" Kelso said, and the room's focus magnetized to him. "It's from _Man of La Mancha..._ John Cleese refused to sing it on _The Muppet Show_ two years ago?" He shook his head. "You guys don't watch enough TV."

Eric cleared his throat. He would not be derailed from his point. "I've got the hottest girl on campus living with me, and have I played with her juicy, _juicy_ parts? No, I haven't, for I am Eric Forman," he pounded his chest and deepened his voice, "the Strongest-Willed Man in the Universe."

"Really?" Donna breezed into the basement. A couple of flyers were in her hands. "You seemed awfully close to crumbling when I left you in the driveway."

"Donna, what the hell?" he said and rushed over to her. "I thought you were on my side now that you've lost."

"Yeah, but I owe you one for 'Candlegate' yesterday."

"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "That's fair. So... we're even?"

She patted his cheek. "No, but I'll keep to my word and be as unappealing for you as possible." Then she passed out flyers to Fez, Kelso, Jackie, and Hyde.

"A Halloween party?" Hyde said.

"Uh-huh." Donna settled onto the couch, tucking her left leg beneath her butt. Not a sexy position, and Eric inwardly thanked her. "The Student Journalists Association holds it on campus every year along with a costume contest. It's apparently quite famous."

"Not that famous." Hyde crumpled the flyer, but Jackie snatched it from him.

"Steven and I would love to go," she said a moment later.

"Jackie—" he began, but she interrupted by whispering in his ear. "I don't care," he said," and then she whispered something else, causing his eyebrows to arch above his sunglasses. "Yeah, we'll be there."

"Because you wanna have hot Halloween sex!" Kelso said and leaned toward Donna conspiratorially. "They're totally out, Big D."

"Really?" Donna's expression darkened, and hostility laced her voice. "So your plan to get my boyfriend and Fez to lose backfired?"

_"_ _No,"_ Jackie said. Her fingers glided over Hyde's and slid into the spaces between them. "We both just realized that some kinds of winning are better than others, right Puddin'?"

"Three-times-better," Hyde said and used their combined hands to pat her stomach. "I've got a feeling losing this contest'll be the gift that keeps on giving..." Then his gaze shifted to the lawn chair. "Fez, what the hell is in there, man? You've been carrying one of those around for weeks."

Fez's was rummaging noisily in the paper bag. He plucked out a tinfoil-covered woman the size of his palm. "Bob brought me to an erotic cake and candy shop last year, and I discovered things I never knew existed." He unwrapped the woman, revealing her naked chocolate body. "This, my friends, is the perfect girl." He stared at the chocolate hungrily, but Eric couldn't tell the source of his appetite.

Fez swirled his tongue around the chocolate woman's breasts before taking a bite. His features softened as he devoured her— _it,_ and Eric understood. Because of this contest, Fez's hunger and lust had become the same thing.

"Will this party have candy?" Fez said.

"Tons," Donna said

"Is it free?"

"After the five-dollar entry fee."

Hyde hiked his thumb at Fez. "That's what his first middle-aged hooker said to him."

"Nice burn!" Kelso said.

"It's not a burn, man. It really happened. After he and Nina went kaput, I introduced him to Loose Lorraine."

"Oh!" Kelso turned toward Fez again. "You know who you should do it with after the contest? A bank teller."

"You and Tilly have seen each other again?" Donna said. "Are you two dating or something?"

"No, we're not dating, but I _have_ seen her. Yeah, in the bank when I make my deposits, and by deposits I mean I've done it with her about a bajillion times." Kelso ran a hand through his hair, and now Eric understood something else, why Kelso had looked so happy on his way into the basement. It was post-sex contentment. "And she's not shy at all. The positions I've nailed her in... Man, working with money must make chicks extra-horny or something." He winked in Hyde and Jackie's direction. "I know Jackie was more experimental whenever I scraped a few bucks together. Too bad I didn't win this contest. Maybe I coulda convinced her to—"

Hyde pushed Jackie off his lap, stood from the chair, and covered the distance between himself and Kelso in a second. Kelso sputtered, the only reaction he had time for as Hyde's arm hooked his neck and yanked him to the ground.

"We didn't have this conversation before," Hyde said, now squeezing Kelso face between his bicep and wrist, "'cause I'd needed to have a more important conversation with someone else."

Eric ran to the couch but remained behind it. Hyde had already made physical contact with Kelso, and the process had to play itself out.

Kelso squirmed, kicking his legs into the air, scratching at Hyde's arm. Hyde's free hand shot out and grabbed hold of Kelso's belt buckle. The material of Kelso's jeans strained as Hyde tugged the buckle upward, causing Kelso to grunt and quit moving.

Eric clutched the couch's top edge in sympathy. The pressure on Kelso's balls could not have been pleasant. And Donna, despite her lady parts, appeared to sympathize, too. "Hyde," she said, "just tell him what you need to say!"

"This _is_ what I need to say." Hyde wrenched Kelso's belt buckle harder, and a whimper followed a cry of pain. Kelso sounded pathetic, but it seemed to goad Hyde into speech. "Chicago, man. That was your last chance." He bent closer to Kelso's ear, and his voice grew low and threatening in a way Eric had never heard from him. "Jackie's _my_ chick. Even when we're fighting, _mine._ When we're both being messed-up stubborn assholes? Still fucking mine. Only way she'll ever be yours is if she doesn't want me anymore... got it?" His grip on Kelso's face loosened, and Kelso nodded with wide, scared eyes. "Glad we understand each other."

His hold on Kelso's belt buckle relented, too. But as Kelso sat up, Jackie shouted, "He made me sound like a hooker, Steven!"

"Fuck—" Hyde shoved Kelso back to the floor and kneed him in the groin. "And just in case you didn't get my point on that one..." He kneed Kelso again.

Kelso groaned, curling up into the fetal position, and Hyde seemed satisfied. He returned to Jackie, but she didn't let him sit in his chair. She grasped his hand and flashed him a look, the same kind Eric's parents had given each other earlier. They hurried toward Hyde's room, and Hyde scooped the unopened condom from the ground. The door shut a few seconds later with Led Zeppelin blasting through.

"So that's two down..." Eric counted off his left fingers while his right gestured to a still-groaning Kelso."That's three... and you," he patted Donna's shoulder, "make four." Then he trained his most intimidating glare on Fez. "It's just you and me."

"No," Fez had another chocolate woman in his hand, "it's just you and me and _Pepé_ _,"_ and bit off her head.

* * *

Eric's grip on the 'Cruiser's steering wheel was loose though he drove fast down Green Bay Road. The contest had closed over his mind like window shades, allowing only the barest sliver of light to shine though. The song playing on the radio didn't help matters: "Slap and Tickle" by Squeeze. At least Donna's hand wasn't on his leg, teasing him with incremental movements toward his fly. The starving bear in his slacks remained in hibernation. If she kept to her word, he could probably last another week.

"I can't believe who the contest's down to," she said as he turned onto Somers Road. Trees lined the street in a dense Impressionist painting of reds, oranges, and yellows, still bright in the late afternoon sun. Usually autumn scenery cheered him up. Not today.

He repositioned his fingers on the steering wheel, pressing the plastic deeper into his palms. "What _I_ can't believe is Kelso. He refused to help me get Fez out." He shifted his voice to a more Kelso-like tone. "'It wouldn't be honorable, Eric. Since I'm disqualified, this contest's gotta be won fair and square. I'm proud of the little guy. He's become a lumpy uggo, but he's holding strong. Well, not holding himself... holding onto his manhood—wait...'"

Donna's eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror. "You, like, remembered word-for-word what Kelso told you?"

"Yeah. My brain's got a lot more storage space..." he stopped at a red light and glanced over at her lap, "now that it's not preoccupied with how to get my dick into _your_ storage space."

"Eric!"

"Just stating facts here. I kept trying to get Fez to crack during _Charlie's Angels_ by using innuendo—"

"Of course that didn't work You're not very good at innuendo."

"Oh, come on, Donna! How is 'Kelly Garret's gun must be getting hot from all the shooting' a bad innuendo?"

The traffic light glowed green, and he floored it down the relatively clear county highway. Something warm slipped over his thigh, causing his muscles to tense as trees passed by in a sunset-colored ribbon. He swerved the 'Cruiser to the left but regained control amid much honking and lightened his foot on the gas.

Soft fingertips were drumming on his knee, and the hibernating bear inside his slacks heard the call. It awoke, salivating for a devious redhead. "Um... hello?" Eric said, sparing a look at Donna.

"Sorry." She withdrew her hand. "I just wanted you to slow down... How are you feeling, y'know, about all this?"

"Frustrated." His blood was pumping faster and massing in the depths of his body. It fueled the bear's hunger, but Eric countered with a strong appetite-suppressant. He reminded himself of his parents chasing each other into their house, of Red's thick hands gliding over his mom's smaller, delicate ones... and the blood retreated back to higher ground. The bear grew sleepy again. "In all ways, _very_ frustrated."

"Are you afraid? Like, that you won't make it?"

Eric scoffed. "My greatest enemy is Fez, and did you see him? He's practically on death's door."

"Yeah..." Donna's nose wrinkled, and she bit lightly into her index finger. She was pondering."I knew this contest would be hard—uh... _rough_ on him, but who knew not handling himself a few weeks might kill him?"

"Oh, I think he'll break before then. What man chooses death over jerking off?"

She nodded but said nothing more.

Soon, they were driving by U.W.'s baseball field. The Rangers' last season had been pretty damn good, thanks to Coach Oberbruner, and Eric wished the coach had some advice to give _him_ about this contest. He might not have been good at sports, but running the bases with Donna—at that, he was an expert.

But now he was playing the outfield, waiting for Fez to be at bat. He wanted Fez to hit the damn ball already and quit striking out. Eric's mitt had grown heavy. His arm felt tired, and his hand was sweltering inside such a confined space... but he was he afraid?

No. Team Forman had no fear. It was only another week of not sleeping against Donna at night or taking in her scent and skin. Another seven days of ignoring sexy college girls jiggling in their U.W. sweaters. Only 168 hours of filtering out the sultry images bombarding him from magazines and even his history textbooks—those saucy wenches. Only 10, 080 minutes of living with a swollen organ that wouldn't give him a damn break!

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he rocketed the 'Cruiser onto U.W.'s campus. The smell of burnt rubber singed his nose, and the horn blasted at any car that dared to get in his way. No, he wasn't afraid... not at all.


	7. Knuckle-Deep in Spiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 7  
 **KNUCKLE-DEEP IN SPIDERS**  


During the school week, Donna had slept on the couch at night and borrowed Eric's thick, over-sized hoodies during the day. The hoodies covered her breasts and butt, making them indistinguishable lumps, and Eric loved her more now than when she'd try to turn him on—okay, no. _As much_ as when she tried to turn him on, if he were being honest. And honesty was the golden rule of this damnable contest. He and Fez were in the home stretch now, but Eric had something Fez didn't: Donna's tireless support.

And, man, did Eric need it.

On Wednesday, he almost lost the competition... and his sanity right along with it. A particularly brutal dream involving Donna and a stripper pole awoke him with morning wood as hard as he could remember. He tore the bed covers off, exposing his sweat-coated body. His hard-on was pressed up against his stomach, and he tried to soften himself with sheer willpower, but dream-Donna refused to leave his mind. Her flushed, naked torso undulated against tarnished metal, her blue eyes invited him inside...

The pressure was too much for one man to take. His hand moved in to relieve it—

"Hands-off, dumbass!"

Eric's fingers sprang open. That was Red's voice.

"Oh, my little snicklefritz was so adorable when he took a bubble bath. His butt would wriggle in the water, creating more bubbles around him..."

"Mom?" Eric whispered. _What the hell?_ Her laughter filtered into his bedroom, shrinking his erection in the process. He sat up, and the sunlight squeezing through his blinds fell in bands across his damp skin. His equally damp sheets would be no help, so he grabbed a shirt from his dresser then gaped at his sun-brightened doorway.

Donna was standing there with a wool blanket wrapped around her—and a tape recorder in her hands. She pressed the pause button, which started the tape rolling again. Red's voice shouted from the speaker. "He thinks Luke Skywalker is a war hero? The moment that pantywaste had to face a real gun firing bullets instead of those plastic things with drawn-in laser bolts, he'd crap his pants and run home to his mommy."

"Luke Skywalker doesn't have a 'mommy,'" Eric blurted, and Donna clicked the recorder's stop button, prompting him to look down at himself. His dick was growing softer by the second. "Oh, God—thank you, Donna!"

"You're welcome." She kept her tone neutral, just as he'd asked her to do. No giggling beneath it, no creeping smiles. "Before we left on Sunday, I interviewed both your parents. First question I asked Red was what he'd say if he found you fondling his motorcycle."

"Donna, you are the best girlfriend ever." He went to the doorway to hug her, but she backed up.

"Save your thank-yous for after the contest is over."

"Oh..." under any other circumstance, her emotional distance would've set off his alarms, "okay. Yeah," but in this case, it was a gesture of love and respect, and he couldn't wait to reward her—

Which wouldn't be too long from now if Fez's nightly phone calls were any indication. They'd begun on Sunday evening with an unsurprising, _"Are you out yet, you sonuvabitch?"_ Monday was the same, but on Tuesday, the threats started. _"If you're not waist-deep inside your red-headed amazon, I will shove you in there,"_ which might have explained Eric's raunchy dream that night.

On Thursday, around 10:00 P.M., Eric let the phone ring four times before picking up. No one spoke, but a man's raspy breathing came through the earpiece. "I'm not out yet," Eric said, and a strangled gurgle sounded from the other end, followed by a click.

The calls stopped after that, and Eric hoped it was a good sign. Maybe Fez had given up and given in.

Holding onto that thought helped get Eric through Friday, and then Saturday arrived, October 27th. Not the actual date of Halloween, but the University of Wisconsin-Parkside's campus had embraced the holiday fully the whole week. Gnarled scarecrows lined University Drive, students wandered the grounds wearing costumes, and rumors were rampant the biology department had released bats into the library at Wyllie Hall.

Donna had left three hours ago to prepare for the party—it was 7:00 P.M. already—but Eric remained in their living room. His toolbox lay open on the couch as he drilled the last hole into his replica of Dick Trickle's safety helmet. The holes were for accuracy. Trickle always needed cigarette-access, and Eric could use the holes for smoking joints. A long, powerful circle would be a necessity if the contest didn't end tonight.

The rest of his Nascar costume consisted of a modified Forman & Son jumpsuit, bleached, dyed, and patched with various commercial endorsements. He'd been like a race-car driver these past few weeks, outlasting all his opponents except for one. But unlike Trickle in this year's Florida Governor's Cup, Eric wouldn't come in second.

He packed the drill back into the toolbox—a get-outta-my-house gift from Red—and locked the box shut. He was running late for the party, but leaving the apartment a mess wouldn't end pleasantly for him. Plastic scrap from the helmet blanketed the coffee table, along with copies of Donna's _Ms._ magazine. He swept the twisted plastic bits into his hand, body moving with a speed that rivaled Dick Trickle's '68 Ford Torino. But his rush-induced sloppiness knocked Donna's magazines off the table, and a page skidded from one of them.

Instead of gliding in the air like a leaf, the page crash-landed on the wooden floor with a sharp _chunk!_ Only its white backside faced him, and he moved toward it cautiously. Weren't magazine pages double-sided? He grasped a corner, flipped it around, and the sight made his fingers withdraw as if they'd been knuckle-deep in spiders.

The magazine page wasn't a page at all but an 8 x 10 glossy photograph. A pair of silver heels led up to a set of long, shapely legs and white-draped hips he knew too well. It was Donna's body in a naughty version of Princess Leia's awards-ceremony outfit. The dress barely covered her thighs, and the sheer white fabric demonstrated just how rosy his lady's nipples could get.

He forced his stare up to the necklace around her smooth neck, but another part of himself had begun to rise, too. Not good, but at least her face wasn't visible. A yellow Press n' Peel had been pasted over it, scrawled with her handwriting:

Sexy Eric Christmas Gifts  
—Princess Leia Costume [checkmarked]  
—See-Through Lingerie [checkmarked]  
—Edible Body Butter [no checkmark]

"Shit. Just... shit!" He snatched the photo off the floor, wanted to shove it back into Donna's magazine, but his body refused to obey him. His fingers gingerly lifted the Press n' Peel off her face, revealing the smile that had launched a thousand orgasms. "Oh, God... Donna, why are you doing this to me?"

But it wasn't her fault. She couldn't have expected him to find it. He never flipped through her Feminist mags; they were like kryptonite to his libido. And this photo in his now-sweating palms was like the Earth's yellow sun, powering his erection into Superman-like strength. Not even images of unshaven armpits could bring it down.

He paced the living room, and the stomp of his boots mingled with the beating of his heart. Had Kelso's pulse choked him when he nailed that bank teller? Did Hyde's blood burn moments before he'd released himself to Jackie? Because Eric could barely breathe and his insides were on fire and his control was teetering on a cliff.

A steep, impulsive, horny cliff.

* * *

If Donna had learned one thing from being in the Student Journalists Association, it was that student journalists knew how to celebrate Halloween. The expansive concourse inside U.W.'s Greenquist Hall had been repurposed for the party. Night crept in through the large sliding windows, and red gels were fixed to the ceiling's track lighting. Otherworldly organ music pumped through the PA system, and fog rolled in from cauldrons of dry ice, giving the place an overall gruesome feel.

Three-hundred people could fit comfortably inside the concourse, and at five dollars a head, it meant a potential donation of fifteen-hundred bucks. A stage had been set up for the costume contest, which would bring in at least another hundred bucks. A sign-up table sat beside it, and Donna's name was the first on the list. All but her face was wrapped in white gauze dipped in black tea. She looked like a decrepit mummy, just what her horny boyfriend needed.

The first shift collecting the admission fees was hers. Some interesting people had shown up to the party, some she'd never expected to see there, including a few of her uptight Ethics classmates. But the people she really wanted to see were Eric and her friends. Almost a half-hour gone, and no sign of any of them.

Her gauze-covered boot tapped the floor as the minutes passed by. The admission table was a lonely place with only strangers for brief company. She glanced behind her, wondering if her friends had joined the party already. They could've easily slipped inside sight-unseen. A Frankenstein's monster and his shock-haired Bride were making out against the brick wall. Several people in Nixon masks sauntered past them to a keg. A corpulent chef and his equally corpulent blueberry-girlfriend engaged the Nixons in conversation, and Donna could only imagine what they had to talk about.

"Guys, I've nailed Eric's sister. It's only fair I get to nail his mummy, too... you know, to complete the set."

"Would you shut up with that crap, already?"

"Ow! Quit snapping my beard, Hyde!"

Donna twisted back around. Her friends were standing in front of the admission table, looking quite eerie beneath the red lights of the concourse. Kelso wore a suit of plastic armor, a fake gray beard, and held a plastic lance. He had to be Don Quixote, and the part suited him well. Fez stood beside him, eyes darting from one costumed guest to another. He was dressed like Willy Wonka, purple suit and brown top hat. He appeared particularly ghastly with his bloated face and his seeming inability to focus. More like Willy Wonka's tormented shade than his living representative.

Jackie, on the other hand, was over-the-top regal in her Cleopatra outfit. She'd clad herself in a tight gold dress, showing off her small but "royal" cleavage. A golden and bejeweled ceremonial headdress crowned her head. It wasn't an exact replica of Elizabeth Taylor's from the movie but close enough.

"Forman here yet?" Hyde said and gave Donna a ten-dollar bill. He and Jackie were a complete mismatch. She looked ready for a coronation, and he was wearing his usual jeans and band shirt. But they seemed disconnected beyond their clothing tonight. They weren't holding hands or touching in any way. In fact, they had at least two feet of space between them.

"No," Donna said, "but he should be soon. Eric wanted time to put 'the finishing details' on his costume... but no costume for you, I see."

"What're you talking about?" Hyde gestured to his shirt—which was really Eric's—depicting a yellow snake coiled around Alice Cooper's black-and-white face.

She wasn't impressed. "And?"

_"_ _And_ I don't listen to Alice Cooper. I'm going as someone who does."

"Right..." She put his ten in the metal money box. "Well, my feminist arguments fell on deaf ears, and we've got plenty of Alice on the mix tonight," she twirled her finger in the air, "once the opening hour of haunted organ finishes up."

"Haunted orgasms," Fez muttered behind Hyde. "That mummy is having haunted orgasms, and I'm having _nothing!"_

Hyde arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, speaking of which... is Forman out yet?"

"No on that account, too," Donna said.

Hyde smirked, and Kelso frowned, causing Donna to arch up her own eyebrows in question. "We've got a little side-bet goin'," Hyde said. "Team-Forman vs. Team-Fez. There's forty bucks at stake."

Kelso poked his face between Hyde and Jackie's heads. "Yup, but if Fez drops dead, the bet's canceled."

Donna waved dismissively at them. "You guys are sick."

"Yeah? So are you," Hyde said, but her attention was pulled to Greenquist Hall's entryway. A man wearing an orange jumpsuit and auto racer helmet sauntered inside. He was too muscular to be Eric and too short. _Damn it._ What could be taking him so long?

"Donna!" Jackie had a five-dollar bill clutched in her fist. "Do I pay here for the costume contest?"

"No. By the stage." Donna pointed behind herself, and Jackie gave Hyde a chaste peck on the cheek before leaving. His gaze followed her down the concourse. Something was definitely going on between them.

"Here ya go, Big D." Kelso dragged Fez to the table and dropped five bucks onto the money box. Fez, though, dug into his suit pockets, emptying them of plastic-wrapped candies. He left two Blow Pops and a peppermint beside Kelso's five.

"Uh, Fez..." Donna scooped up the candy and shoved it back at him, "I need cash."

"What does a mummy need with money?" he said.

"I'm not a real mummy. It's a costume."

"Good day, King Tut."

"But, Fez—"

He put up his hand, "I said, 'Rot on your haunted orgasms!" and walked away. Kelso stared after him, but Hyde pulled five dollars from his wallet and slammed it onto the table.

"Thanks, Hyde," Donna said.

Hyde shook his head, "Whatever. He's gonna pay me back at least double—if not quadruple," and stalked off in Fez's direction.

Kelso moved to follow, but Donna grasped his plastic-sheathed arm. "What's wrong with them?"

"Hyde?" Kelso shrugged. "I have no idea. But Fez, he's gone a little..." he traced a circle by his temple. "A man can keep from polishing his sword—or lance—for only so long without losing it."

She nodded. The contest had taken its toll on all of them. When she'd come up with the competition, she never imagined how difficult it would be. The end was in sight, but Hyde's behavior troubled her. His attitude and body language recalled how he'd acted last Saturday—when he was still competing.

"Do you wanna polish my lance, Donna?" Kelso was waving the plastic weapon on front of her, and she grabbed it to keep it still. "Yeah, now stroke it up and do—" She knocked the lance into his face. "OW"

"I'm sure your new girlfriend's wondering where you are." She hiked her thumb toward the stage. "Why don't you go find her?"

He narrowed his eyes as if he hadn't heard her correctly. "What new girlfriend?"

"You know, your porn-star grandma bank teller? Chantilly?"

"Tilly?" His eyes widened now into two gaping holes. "She's here?"

"Yeah, she's dressed up like Athena. You didn't invite her?"

"No! Why would I do that?"

"Because you've been seeing her the last few weeks? Hot Halloween sex?" Donna cleared her throat as four new party guests arrived in full royal regalia. They were detailed costumes, each having a different symbol: a red heart, a red diamond, a black spade, and a black club. Playing-card royalty. They were sure to give her and Jackie tough competition if they entered the costume contest.

"I didn't invite her," Kelso said once the King of Hearts and his friends had left. "Aw, crap!

"She must have a friend who goes to U.W... Kelso? Hey, Kelso!" His forehead was leaning into the plastic lance, but he straightened up at her urging.

"Man, I gotta tell you something," he whispered. The lance had set an angry red depression between his eyes. "I've been holding it in for two weeks. My stomach hurts every time I think about it, and I can't even _look_ at a boob without feeling guilty..."

She leaned in closer, "If you can't tell your mummy, who can you tell?" and listened raptly to Kelso's confession.


	8. The Devil... or the Savior?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. "Welcome To My Nightmare" copyright 1975 Atlantic Recording Corporation. "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah" copyright 2004 Atlantic Recording Corp. Manufactured  & Marketed by Warner Strategic Marketing.

CHAPTER 8  
 **THE DEVIL... OR THE SAVIOR?**  


Eric stepped inside Greenquist Hall a little after. 8:00 P.M. Donna and her fellow student journalists had done a great job with the place, far better than the Hub's cartoon cutouts of pumpkins. Blood-soaked mannequins were chained to the walls. Costumed guests packed the sprawling concourse as Alice Cooper blasted through the PA system. The music was a nice touch, and it matched Eric's mood.

_"_ _Welcome to my nightmare,"_ Alice sang.

"Thanks," Eric said to the red-lit air. It was going to be hard finding Donna and his friends in this crowd. He didn't even know what they were wearing tonight.

_"_ _Welcome to my breakdown,"_ Alice sang.

"No," Eric said, "welcome to _mine._ "He'd done a horrible thing back at his apartment. Unforgivable, but it had made him realize something important about himself—and maybe just a little bit sad.

_"_ _I hope I didn't scare you,"_ Alice sang.

"You didn't," Eric said. "Nothing scares me anymore." So why the hell was he still standing by the entryway of Greenquist Hall?

The admission table lay several feet ahead with what looked like a very bored Attila the Hun manning the money box. He was smacking a plastic sword repeatedly into his palm and sighing. Eric walked up to him as Alice sang, _"_ _You know inside you feel right at home here..."_ and pulled five dollars from his jumpsuit.

"Who're you supposed to be," Attila said, "Elroy Jetson?" His fake beard twitched as he spoke, and Eric fought the urge return the insult.

"No, I'm only the greatest race-car driver Wisconsin's ever produced. Dick Trickle. Ever heard of him?"

Attila pointed his sword at Eric's helmet. "What's with all the holes?"

"They're for accuracy—whatever. Have you seen Donna?"

"Yeah, she had the primo-shift, and I relieved her." He glanced back into the concourse. "Do you know how much fun it is to sit at a table by yourself when you've got a killer party like that going on? It's hell, man."

Eric dropped his five bucks onto the table. "You have no _idea_ what hell is. So what's she wearing?"

"A bunch of toilet paper."

"What?"

Attila shrugged as if he didn't care, and a huge yawn burst out of him. Eric looked down at the floor as Alice Cooper sang, _"_ _We sweat, laugh, and scream here 'cause life is just a dream here."_ Red-tinged fog, like a lake of ghostly blood, submerged his legs up to the calves. Life did seem like a dream here, especially after what he'd done.

He moved past Attila and plunged himself into the party. Several kegs were against the brick wall with drunken Nixons cackling around them. Darth Vader and Han Solo were groping each other nearby, which didn't disturb Eric at all. Someone needed to keep Han off Leia, and who better than the Dark Lord of the Sith?

A velvet-draped stage had been set up in the middle of the concourse, and beyond that was a line of cafeteria tables shrouded in macabre-looking food. Blood bubbled in champagne flutes, slime-covered eyeballs filled glass bowls, and a pile of brains sat in a serving pan. One table over was the candy. Gummy worms, marshmallow bones, and "snot"-filled lollipops were only some of the ghoulish confections on offer.

An infuriated Willy Wonka kept shoving back the Frankenstein monster, who was attempting to get a handful of chocolate bats. "No!" Wonka shouted. "You are made of dead body parts sewn together. What do you need with candy? Go find a rat to chew on."

"Dude, I'm not really Frankenstein."

"I know that," Wonka said. "I am not an idiot. You are his _monster._ Frankenstein is your creator." Wonka pinched one of the Frankenstein monster's neck bolts. "He put these in your neck to catch life-giving lightning... ai!" The bolt came off in Wonka's hand.

"Nice work, dickhead!" The Frankenstein monster snatched the bolt back. "I had to sit for 20 minutes while the glue on this thing set." He grabbed the bowl of chocolate-covered bats. "I'm taking these."

"Oh, yeah? I'll set you on fire, you sonuvabitch. Where are my matches..." Wonka patted down his purple suit, and Eric finally stepped in. It was Fez in that get-up, puffy-faced and sweaty.

"All right, buddy, you've made your point," Eric said and clasped Fez's shoulder. "We don't want Franken-asshole rampaging all over your face."

"There are so many monsters here trying to take my candy." Fez turned toward Eric but didn't seem to recognize him, "But our Earth women are usually very attractive. Welcome to our planet, Mr. Spaceman." He stuck out his hand for Eric to shake, and Eric ignored it.

"Fez, it's me. It's Eric."

Fez reached toward Eric's helmet. "Eric? Ai, no! You've been transformed into an orange Martian!"

"No, I'm Dick Trickle—"

"But you just said you were Eric."

Eric took the helmet off, "I _am_ Eric. I'm just _going_ as Dick Trickle," and touched Fez's forehead. "Man, you're burning up!"

"Yes, there is a fever deep inside my loins..."

Eric yanked his hand away. That answered one question: Fez was still in the contest. "We gotta find Kelso, and he's gotta take you home—"

"No!" Fez leaned over the table of candy and hugged it." I can't leave my children."

"Oh, boy..." Eric scanned the crowd of partiers, trying to catch any hint of his friends or a toilet-papered Donna, but he didn't have a prayer. Too many costumed-people crowded the area. "Fez," he said, "what's Kelso wearing?"

"I don't know."

"Didn't you come with him?"

"I haven't come in weeks!"

"No, I mean didn't you go to the party with him?"

"No." Fez stood up straight and popped a gummy worm into his mouth. "I must eat you to protect you, my babies..."

"Fez—"

"Hyde drove me and Cleopatra and Don Quixote in the El Camino. Then a mummy with Donna's face took their money and bragged about her haunted orgasms."

_Haunted orgasms?_ Eric scanned the concourse again. A lanky knight was darting between guests and glanced over his shoulder as if he were avoiding someone. He dashed past the stage, barreled toward the cafeteria tables, and Eric grabbed his arm.

"Kelso?"

"Whoa, Eric. Hey." Kelso's breath sped from him, making his plastic chest plate rise and fall rapidly. "Where have you been?"

"I got caught up. Listen," Eric pointed to Fez, who was now whispering something to a jar of black and orange jellybeans, "your friend over there is kinda sick."

"So? We've always known that. He's the sick one. I'm the hot one. You're the screw-up—"

"No—and I am _not_ the screw-up—he's physically sick. Feverish. Delusional. He refuses to leave the party, but he shouldn't be alone, and I've gotta find Donna."

Kelso nodded. "Cool. Maybe Fez'll say something I can blackmail him with later."

"Make sure he gets to a doctor tomorrow—" Eric backed off toward the crowd, "oh, and do you have any idea where Donna is?"

"The last time I tried to pull off her wrappings was by the stage. I'd check there."

"Thanks... and quit mauling my girlfriend!

"I am who I am, Eric!" Kelso shouted after him.

Eric carried his Dick Trickle safety helmet beneath his arm and headed for the stage. People in elaborate costumes surrounded the contest sign-up table. One woman was dressed as an iridescent peacock with thousands of feathers sewn onto a bodystocking. A Batman-and-Robin duo flirted with the Charlie's Angels, and a red-haired mummy was in conversation with a grizzled cowboy.

"Donna?" Eric tapped the mummy's gauze-covered shoulder, and she turned around.

"Eric?" She went in for a hug but stopped herself. "What happened? You're, like, an hour late."

He flicked his eyes up and down her body. She couldn't have chosen a more unflattering costume to wear—except for maybe a cardboard box—but calling her masterpiece "toilet paper" did it no justice. His lady had taken great care to make the gauze appear aged, to wrap it thickly in just the right spots so her normally shapely curves seem straight as a plank. She'd done that for him, and he was grateful.

"Is there somewhere private we could talk?" he said.

She peered up at the stage. "There's a space behind the curtains." Then she gave the grizzled cowboy a polite goodbye and led Eric onto the stage.

None of the concourse's red light seeped behind the heavy velvet drapes, meaning it was pitch-black. He couldn't see Donna in front of him or if anyone else were back there.

"Hey, how's everybody doing?" he said into the dark. No answer. "Stix is better than Zeppelin!" Again, no answer. "I've got a ton of pot on me, and I'm about to smoke i—"

"Eric, we're alone," Donna said. "So, are you gonna tell me why you're so late? Is everything okay?"

"Um..." His throat tightened painfully, and his heart pulsed in his fingers. The dark around him felt as heavy as the velvet drapes, but he forced himself to talk. "I—I discovered one of your Christmas gifts."

"Oh, no..."

"It flew out of your magazine."

Donna inhaled a sharp breath, "I am so sorry!" and her palm cupped his cheek, but she quickly withdrew it. "I swear I wasn't trying to sabotage you. I didn't think you'd—"

"Oh, I know. You've been so great this week..." His gaze dropped to the floor, but the dark at his feet equaled the dark in front of him. "I couldn't help myself, Donna. I was sitting on the edge of our bed with your picture in one hand and my dick in the other, and then I did one of the worst things I could ever think of doing..."

"What?" She'd moved closer to him. He could feel the heat of her body. "What did you do, Eric?"

"I tore it up—I just ripped it into teeny, tiny pieces."

"Your penis?"

"No, you goon. Your picture! Your naughty, _naughty_ Leia picture."

"Oh," she said with a half-giggle. "I still have the negatives—"

"You do? The Force _is_ with me!"

Her half-giggle turned into laughter, and the sound made him feel even better. "What about your other hand? Did you, um... battle with your lightsaber?"

"No. The act of destroying something so beautiful drained the power cell. I also realized something. Ever since we started college, the gang hasn't been the same—"

"The gang?" she said, and though he couldn't see her, he could imagine her incredulous, raised eyebrows.

"We're sorta like a gang—"

"You sound like Archie Andrews."

"Okay, fine. Our _friends."_ He put his replica of Dick Trickle's safety helmet back on his head. His arm had grown tired from carrying it. "Anyway, growing up sometimes means growing apart, you know? At least a little. And I realized that this contest has kept us all in each other's lives more than usual, just like Halloween did when we were kids.

"Remember how in the weeks leading up to Halloween," he continued, voice hitching, "you, me, Hyde, and Kelso would try to out-spook each other? Especially during the campouts in your father's yard. And how you and I always banded together during trick-or-treating to make sure Hyde got his fair share of candy? Of all nights his mom had to keep him inside, it was that one—until he was old enough to sneak out."

"Yeah..." Donna moved even closer now, and she bumped into his helmet, "ouch! Eric, what the hell?"

"Safety helmet," he said. "You weren't just trying to kiss me, were you?"

"No."

His fingers curled and flexed. They were hot from the strength of his heartbeat. "Well, good. Because despite Fez's growing insanity, I plan on seeing this competition through to the end. Our friends are kind of like family—"

"I know."

"—and I'll be sad when we don't have the contest gluing us together anymore."

"That's really sweet," she said and patted the side of his helmet, "and a little pathetic. Maybe next time we should write a collective story or something. You know, I write the first part. You write the second and mail it off to Hyde, who writes the third—"

"Now _that_ is pathetic," he said, but he was smiling and hoped she could hear it. "And would you really want to read what twisted things Fez would come up with?"

"Good point." Her fingertip slipped into one of the helmet's access holes and poked his cheek. The feeling was sharp enough not to send dirty thoughts into his head. "Hyde and Kelso have a side-bet on whether you or Fez will win "

"What? Which of those bastards put money on me?"

"Hyde."

Eric smirked in the dark. So, Hyde had faith in The Kid, after all... and Eric's moment of self-discovery back in the apartment had renewed his faith in himself.

* * *

Fez couldn't stop staring at the beautiful brown horse by the stage talking to Superman. The horse was draped in white cloth, and golden sandals protected its hooves. Strange, though, that it had only _two_ hooves—and they looked very much like human feet. If that horse had been a woman, he would've ridden it like a stallion up and down the concourse.

"Damn, I can't believe she's here!" Don Quixote said next to him. He was sucking on a lollipop, which Fez had allowed him to have. The monsters were relentless tonight, skulking around the cafeteria tables, attempting to get at Fez's tasty children. But Quixote had pledged his protection, just as Kelso would've done, and the lollipop was equally as safe in his mouth. "Fez, you know how I'm, like, the best rider there is?"

"You are a noble knight," Fez said.

"Yeah, well, I met a horse that I couldn't break. She didn't even let me put a saddle on her. I couldn't let you guys know 'cause I've got a reputation to maintain... But, man, once it gets out a horse bucked me off, other horses might get the idea to do that, too."

"No, some horses are just untameable, my friend. Have you ever tried to ride a hippopotamus? In my country, we use them as transportation. Now _they_ are hard to break."

Quixote touched his hand to Fez's forehead. "I think Eric's right. I gotta take you home."

Fez hit Quixote's hand away. "No! My duty isn't finished. You of all people should understand. You carry a lance and wear armor and fight windmills."

"Fez..." Quixote pulled the beard off his face and tucked it beneath his chin, and his features transformed into Kelso's.

Fez gasped. "Sorcery!"

"No, it's a—"

"You are one of them. You are a monster!" Fez stuffed caramel fangs into his pockets and gummy worms and marshmallow bones. "I'll save you!" Then he fled into the concourse, searching for escape.

* * *

Jackie had made her rounds through the party, charming everyone she met with flattery and her natural charisma. Losing Snow Queen two years ago taught her the importance of schmoozing, and she wasn't about to leave the costume contest up to chance. But after a half-hour of idle chit-chat, she missed Steven. She sought him out by the kegs and found him talking to Donna by one.

"Hey." He gestured for her to join them. Then he repeated what Donna had apparently just shared with him.

"Are you serious?" Jackie said. "Eric still didn't give in?"

"No, but part of me wishes he had—just so it could be, like, over with," Donna said, twisting a piece of gauze off her wrist. "You guys, I'm starting to feel guilty about all this..."

"Oh, please. He's lucky to have a girlfriend as tolerant as you are." Jackie flipped her hair back, knowing how her golden headdress would catch the red light of the concourse. Anyone looking in their direction would see the vibrancy of her Cleopatra costume.

"Yeah, man. He asked for it." Steven clasped Jackie's hand and began to pull her away. "And he found that picture all on his own."

"But I put it there," Donna said.

"And he put _himself_ in the position he's in," Steven said. "Typical Forman. But I still think he'll stick it out longer than Fez."

Donna glanced down at her gauze wrappings, and Jackie spotted the regret in her eyes. "Donna," Jackie used her most authoritative voice, "finish what you started. You're giving him what he wants."

Donna glanced back up. The regret in her eyes had been replaced by resolve. "You're right," she said.

"I'm always right," Jackie said. "If you'd realized this when you first met me, you—"

Steven tugged on her arm, and she didn't resist as he brought her to the end of the concourse. They ducked into a quiet, isolated area beneath a wide staircase. She was happy for the privacy, and he wasted no time, hands gripping her waist, lips sweeping along the ridge of her ear. The contact sent electric charges deep into her body, but doubt acted like Faraday cage, shielding her heart from the effects.

"Who knew deprivation could be so freakin' hot?" he whispered.

She slid her palms over his fingers, "Well, you'll get to enjoy it a little longer," and pried them off her waist. "The costume contest is about to start, and I don't want you wrinkling my dress."

He took the hint, maybe too strongly. He backed off from her, allowing a long stretch of red-fogged floor to stand between them. "You're pissed—"

"I'm not pissed. I just want to win."

"It was your idea, man. I was good to go all week—"

"I know, and I'm not pissed. I'm..." She closed the distance between them and pressed herself against his chest. It was too much to explain, and they had too little time. "I'm sorry, Steven."

"Jackie—" he held her but not too tightly, "I'm over it, okay?"

She nodded beneath his chin, "I don't want you to be over _me,"_ and shut down the tears threatening to ruin her perfect makeup.

"You shouldn't be thinking about this shit." His hand glided up her back, and his fingertips brushed the exposed nape of her neck. The sensation made her shiver with too many kinds of longing. "You gotta remember one thing," he said, and his tone became playful, "Forman's got no clue."

He was smirking, and it disarmed her. She began to relax in his arms, to let herself smile. Over time, he'd learned when to stay focused and serious and when to change the subject with humor and a bit of grace. It was to make her feel better, and she licked her lips, trying to stave off her growing desire. That he conscientiously worked at being a good boyfriend to her... nothing got her hotter.

"Eric's so gullible and Eric-y," she said, voice now heavy with lust. "When he finally understands what's really been going on—"

"Will the female contestants for the costume contest please line up backstage?" someone said over the PA system. "Will the female contestants for the costume contest please line up backstage?"

"Damn. I gotta go, baby." She kissed him softly, a brief taste of what she was so unwilling to lose. "Beat up anyone who doesn't vote for me."

He chuckled and gave her wrist a tender squeeze. "Sure."

* * *

Eric stood among the crowd waiting for the costume contest to begin. Spotlights without colored gels lit the stage, which was nice because all the red tonight had gotten tiresome. The M.C. was a man dressed up as Mr. Spock. He spoke into his microphone, welcoming the audience. His voice boomed through the PA speakers, but a cacophony of high-pitched screams from backstage cut him off.

The heavy drapes billowed in and out as if a ghost were tangled up in them, and then Fez stumbled out and onto the stage. He looked half-crazed, breathing like he'd just run a marathon. His top hat was missing, and his hair stuck out at odd angles. His purple suit was half unbuttoned with candy spilling from the pockets.

People in the crowd booed at his appearance, and Eric couldn't blame them. "Don't you boo me, you child-eating monsters!" Fez shouted. "I boo _you._ BOO!"

"The men's competition is _after_ the ladies'," the M.C. said into the microphone, "and if you come back then, you'll get a better reception," but the crowd's hostility was growing.

The M.C. sighed and advanced on Fez, who grabbed the microphone. But the M.C. didn't let go. They struggled over its possession, dragging each other all over the stage. Feedback squawked through the PA system until the M.C. tripped over a wire, causing him to lose his grip.

"Your logic can't help you now, you pointy-eared bastard!" Fez said. He raised the microphone to his lips and addressed the crowd. "Hello, ladies and gentleman. I would like to discuss something very important with all of you." His manner had completely changed. His breathing calmed, and his face no longer showed contempt but thoughtful introspection. "I want to talk about a little something called haunted orgasms—"

A black-shirted blur leapt onto the stage and yanked Fez to the ground. The microphone fell with a _thud!_ sending feedback screeching into the concourse,but Eric's attention remained on Fez. The blur was hauling him off through the crowd, and Eric made his way toward them, pushing past a fat chef and his portly blueberry girlfriend. He couldn't let some security-dillhole kick Fez out into the cold—but seconds later, the blur began to slow down, and Eric recognized the blur's shirt as his own faded Alice Cooper concert tee. He'd left it at home last weekend for laundry-purposes, and Hyde had to be the one wearing it.

A few more seconds later, and Hyde's distinct curly hair came into focus. Fez was in relatively safe hands, and Eric eased back toward the stage. The competition had started in earnest. A green-skinned zombie limped toward the M.C. Brown tatters covered half her body, and she groaned into the microphone. The crowd laughed as she sniffed at the M.C.'s skull, and she nodded her approval before limping off to the side of the stage.

The Evil Queen from Disney's _Snow White_ presented herself next, followed by the Charlie's Angels, Annie Hall, Wonder Woman, and a purple octopus. Eric applauded loudest for the octopus. Her eight tentacles glistened like they were underwater, and he appreciated the artistic detail.

Once the octopus floated away, the M.C. read off the next contestant from a blue index card. "Jackie Burkhart as Cleopatra."

Jackie strutted onto the stage, golden dress glittering, jewels of her headdress shining like bright stars. But her cleavage radiated the most light, at least to Eric. His glimpse of her naked breasts last week hadn't left him. Most of his cruelest dreams were of Donna, but once or twice Jackie had sneaked in. That illicit peek of her small but sumptuous chest might have been on purpose. Such a tactic wasn't above her—if only she and Hyde hadn't gotten themselves out of the contest already.

Eric kept his head down as Jackie continued her strut across the stage. Goggling at her had no lasting benefits. If she caught on, Hyde would find out and kill him. Eric's perfectly rational reasoning, "Breasts are breasts. Sue me," wouldn't save him.

"I'm the most beautiful queen in all of history," Jackie said into the microphone, "made even more beautiful by your adoration."

The audience cheered as Eric hummed Alice Cooper's "Welcome To My Nightmare" to himself. Jackie's presentation seemed interminable, and he raised his eyes only when the M.C. announced Luise Beckett as Janis Joplin. An impressive snake-haired Medusa came out afterward, but the acrobatic hand-walker who followed completely upstaged her. She had overalls on her arms and a shirt on her legs, and the sight was mind-alteringly trippy. Only a circle could've made the performance more entertaining.

"And now for our last female contestant," the M.C. said, and Eric prepared himself to whistle as loudly as possible. Sure, she was a frumpy mummy, but she was _his_ frumpy mummy. "Donna Pinciotti as Princess Leia!"

"What?" Eric's gaze swept across the stage and stopped at the long, bare leg emerging from the heavy drapes. An identical, equally enticing leg joined the first, and they both ended in silver heels. A short white dress skimmed his favorite set of hips, the fabric covering just enough thigh to keep Eric from murdering every straight man in Greenquist Hall.

"Come on over, Princess," the M.C. said, and Eric's mouth hung slack as Donna sashayed across the stage. Unlike the photo of her in the same costume, a bra concealed her nipples beneath the dress, but he imagined them anyway. He also imagined his hands sliding up her legs and grasping her hips, pulling her toward his growing erection—

"What do you have to say to the crowd, Leia?" the M.C. said, and Eric's awareness returned to the stage. He couldn't seem to blink or take in more than shallow breaths. Not since their first time together had such shock jolted his system.

Donna leaned toward microphone, blue eyes searching the crowd until they connected with his. She smiled then, a beckoning smile as tempting as the Sirens' song. He'd been lost at sea for weeks, surrounded by an endless stretch of water. But he finally spied the jagged coastline of an island, and she was waiting for him, calling to him. He wanted to swim out to her, to brave the savage water crashing against the rocks even if it meant his death.

"Don't underestimate the Dark Side of the Force," she said into the microphone. Her voice was low and seductive, luring more of Eric's blood south. He reflexively pulled off his safety helmet and put in front of his pelvis. Then he rushed away from the stage. Thoughts were lost to him now. His body had taken over, and the urgency of his arousal spurred him onward to find a safe place for release.

* * *

Ten minutes earlier, Hyde had half-dragged, half-carried Fez down the concourse toward the wide staircase. The men's bathroom was nearby, and he couldn't shove Fez in there fast enough.

"Is this a spaceship?" Fez said. The bathroom's flickering fluorescent lights gave the metallic sinks and urinals an alien appearance. "Wow," Fez glided his hand slowly through the air, "zero-gravity feels so strange.. like regular gravity." Then he looked at Hyde. "We're really in a spaceship?"

Hyde forced an encouraging smile. _Man,_ had his friend lost it. "Yes, Fez," he said in his best, soothing Mrs. Forman impression, "it's a spaceship." He opened a private stall. "Now get in there and fire your rocket."

"What if I have more than one rocket to fire?"

"Just keep firing, man." Hyde pushed Fez into the stall. "I'll send someone in to bring you back to Earth if you stay here too long."

Fez shut the stall door himself and locked it. "You are a good friend, Hyde."

"Here's hoping you blast off into sanity."

Hyde backed out of the bathroom, satisfied Fez would be all right. He jetted up the concourse as wisps of red fog clung to his boots. If he didn't get back to the stage to witness Jackie flaunt herself, he could kiss his 'nads goodbye.

* * *

Eric entered the men's bathroom in a preternatural calm. Barring a miracle, he wouldn't escape defeat this time. His erection was already pressing against his stomach, fueled by the dirty fantasies teeming within his skull. He put his safety helmet down on a sink. Fear had left him completely, making room for the shame about to replace it.

All but one of the bathroom's stalls were empty. Emboldened by his plight, he knocked on the closed stall. A man in his darkest hour deserved some privacy, didn't he?. "How much longer you gonna take?" he said, and a groan answered him—a groan he'd heard too many times. From Donna's closet. From underneath Donna's bed. Inside the basement at his parents' house... "Fez?"

"Eric?"

Neither the odor of vomit or the stink of crap hovered in the air. Eric backed up from the stall. "You okay?"

Fez said nothing.

"Fez, what are you doing?"

When Fez still said nothing, Eric's heart drew much-needed blood into his brain. His breaths deepened, and his intelligence at last reasserted itself.

"Are you..." he shut his eyes and prayed to God his hunch was right, "are you out?"

"Oh, I am out," Fez said. "I am out five times, and... and..."

Eric's legs were shaking. He needed to sturdy himself and leaned against the stall door until—

"Ai, no... SIX times!"

Eric shoved himself away, simultaneously disgusted and elated. He clutched his fists and performed the slowest, most methodical victory dance ever. "I win," he mouthed silently. "I... WIN!" Then he barreled out of the bathroom, shouting his declaration into the concourse. "I win! The Kid won! I—holy crap. I've gotta find Donna!"

He sprinted to the stage, where the men's costume competition had taken over. Kelso stood up there with the microphone in his hand, singing an off-key rendition of "Man of La Mancha". Eric grimaced and searched the audience—which had to be deaf, considering they hadn't booed Kelso off the stage yet—and caught a flash of red hair by the Frankenstein monster.

"Donna," Eric said, running up to her. He gripped her arm, and she turned around, startled. "We need a room, a very private room... _now."_

Her expression relaxed, and she seemed to understand his meaning. "Are you sure?"

"Very."

Without any more questions, she took his hand and led him down the concourse. They went up the wide staircase to the second floor. A seemingly endless hallway of locked classrooms lay before them, but she brought him to a set of double doors.

"This lecture hall is never locked," she said. "I don't know why."

"And I don't _care_ why," he said, opening the doors. He tugged her inside.

She clicked on the lights, revealing the immensity of the lecture hall. Stadium seating filled the space, enough for at least three-hundred people, and Eric ran up and down the aisles, making sure they were truly alone. The room was empty, all right—except for the M.C.'s voice through the PA system, announcing that the costume contest votes were being tallied.

"Lock the doors, Donna."

She did, and he dashed back to her. His arms snaked around her waist, pulled her flush against his body, and he kissed her with two weeks' worth of pent-up energy. The soft, moist feel of her mouth overwhelmed him after so much time in its absence. He couldn't absorb both the physical and emotional sensations, but he tried. Gave it his all until a small moan slipped from her throat, provoking him to pull away.

"Eric..." she was clutching the professor's podium, as if his kiss had destroyed her sense of balance, "why now?"

"Your costume switch-up almost finished me—"

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I just wanted a chance to win _some_ thing—"

"It's okay. I ran to the bathroom, and I was about to... and then I found Fez, and I heard him behind a closed stall—" Eric's cheeks began to ache. He was grinning uncontrollably. "He's done—six-times over—and I..." he leaned in and kissed her again, " won." Another quick kiss. "Me, Donna. Your boyfriend outlasted everyone."

"Congratulations." Her fingernails lightly scratched the nape of his neck, but something in her tone struck him wrong. He thought to question her, and then she pushed her mouth so thoroughly into his that all doubts were forgotten.

The PA speaker crackled as the very real prospect of sex saturated his thoughts, and the M.C.'s voice burst through the static. "Will all the female contestants for the competition please line-up on the stage?"

Eric forced himself to stop the kiss. "Do you want to go?"

"Hell, no."

"Thank God because I am hornier than I've ever been."

Her lips curled in a mischievous smile. "Hearing Fez rub one out turns you on, huh?"

"In this context... yes. Yes, it does."

He grabbed the hem of her white dress, and she let him pull it off her body. She was standing before him now in a lacy bra and panties, so many of her juiciest parts just waiting to be touched. He unbuttoned the top of his modified Forman & Son jumpsuit, revealing his undershirt, and her fingers shot out to undo the remaining buttons.

"In third place, please congratulate Jackie Burkhart as Cleopatra!" the M.C. said through the PA system.

"Congrats," Donna said, pressing a kiss into Eric's neck. The jumpsuit was only half-off his body, and her hands slinked inside his pants to grasp his butt.

The PA speaker crackled. "Let's have a round of applause for our second-place winner, the glorious peacock, Elise Novak!"

Eric patted Donna's butt as his applause, and she patted his butt in return, giggling. Then she took hold of his jumpsuit, pushed it down to his ankles.

"Huh," she said. "You _are_ hornier than you've ever been." She was eye-level with his underwear, and as a tease, she brushed her cheek against his bulge before standing again.

"It's been two hard, lonely weeks," he said, embracing her. His fingertips dipped beneath the band of her bra, and he got to the difficult task of unhooking it. Even after all these years, those fasteners tripped him up.

"In first place," the M.C. said, "and the winner of a gift certificate to Gimbel's: Carol Kirkpatrick, the Upside-Down Woman!"

Feedback squealed through the PA speaker, causing Eric and Donna to part and cover their ears. Eric's arousal waned a little—damn Mr. Spock and his microphone mishandling!—but Donna reached behind herself when sweet silence finally took over. Her bra fell to the floor, and all he'd lost came rushing back.

"Oh, how I've missed the twins." He moved toward Donna and her newly-exposed breasts—and stumbled on his jumpsuit. It was bunched around his boots, blocking him from his hard-won plunder. He frantically kicked himself free, tore off his undershirt, and hurled himself at Donna's body.

She landed on the professor's desk beside the podium. His long-deprived hands and tongue enjoyed her bounty, eliciting gasping breaths from deep inside her chest. The PA speaker crackled again, and the M.C. said something, but Eric had no mind to register it. He was happily drowning in the sensation of Donna's stiff, pebbled peaks against his lips, of her subtle gyrations against his pelvis. For all his romantic fervor, he wanted to take it slow.

The desk proved as good a surface as any, allowing them access to each other's most sensitive parts. Donna spared no inch of herself, from the smooth expanse of her skin to the strength of her legs. And when it seemed they'd both reached the brink of tolerance, he raised himself on his elbows and gazed into her waiting eyes.

"Donna, will you do me the great honor of having sex with me in this classroom?"

She answered by glancing over his shoulder. He looked behind himself at the room's red-bricked wall.

"You want to do it there?" he said, and she smiled in response. He jumped off the desk, "My girl's gotten dirty without me," and helped her to her feet.

They both draped their underwear on the podium, which made Donna laugh, and they went to the wall. Her back pushed into the bricks as Eric cushioned her head with his palm. Then Alice Cooper's "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah" kicked up on the PA system, prompting her to engage him with a series of hungry kisses. He enjoyed the moment even as his rigid shaft rested against her thigh, throbbing with 1,296,000 seconds-worth of impatience.

_"_ _We could be in passion. We could be in danger,"_ Alice sang as Eric pulled back his hips. His free hand skimmed down the side of Donna's body, settled onto her waist, and he—

"Eric, wait."

He froze in mid-thrust, and the tip of his erection was achingly close to her entrance. "Shit, you didn't stop taking the pill, did you? I don't have my who-am-I-kidding condom on me—""No... I just—" Her fingertips trailed up his arms, raising gooseflesh. "I have to tell you this.""Tell me? Tell me what?"

She didn't speak, and Alice Cooper filled the space. _"_ _You could be the devil. You could be the savior. Well, I really can't tell by the way that your behavior..."_

"Donna, for the love of God, what is it? Things are gonna start happening on their own soon."

"There's still someone left in the contest," she said.

Eric backed off a little, withdrawing his palm from her head. "No. That's impossible. Everyone gave me their money—except for Fez. But his hands were a little busy.""Yeah, someone gave in the money to make you _think_ they were out."

"What?" Eric's heart, already beating fast from foreplay and anticipation, pummeled his ribs with newly added dread. "But that's—that's cheating."

"It's not. The honor system was about admitting you were out if you got out. There was no provision for someone saying they're out when they're still _in._ Whoever did it exploited that loophole."

He backed off further, eyes focusing on the brick wall instead of his naked, hot-as-hell girlfriend. "How do you know?" he said.

She stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "The person decided tonight was the time to confess. Circumstances were right for them—"

"'Them'? Is it more than one person?" He'd begun to gesture, and his movements grew more frenetic with each passing moment. "Just spit it out. Who's left for me to beat?"

"There's no neutral singular pronoun," she said, "so I have to use 'them' as an alternate. Saying 'her or him' is so clunky—"

"Donna!" His chest hurt with the assault from his heart. "Who... is left... for me... to beat?"

Donna was standing only inches away from him now, her flushed nipples and moist entrance brutally off-limits to him once again. She quirked up an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious?"

* * *

Fez sat slumped on the open toilet seat, exhausted and sticky from effort. Though it would take him months to work off the weight—and debt—he'd accrued, his sanity no longer twirled in an overly-horny, chocolate-gorged state. And he asked himself an important question: Had he learned anything from all this?

No.

He studied his sore, dirty fingers. Had he gained anything from all this?

Still no.

Footsteps clacked outside his closed stall. How long had he been in the bathroom firing his rockets? "Hello?" he shouted through the stall door. "Is anybody out there? I need a washcloth."

* * *

"It can't be Fez," Eric said.

"No," Donna said, and he shut his eyes. The lure of her body was too enticing, and he had to think. "And Hyde'll be happy about that. You won him forty dollars."

_Hyde._ Eric shut his eyes tighter. Hyde and _Jackie..._ Hyde claimed they'd done it three times last Saturday night, but it could've been an elaborate setup. The spilled detergent on the dryer, a ruse. Hyde should've known when Eric was getting back from church that Sunday morning. Should've brought Jackie into his room before then—unless they'd _wanted_ Eric to catch them. And the condom on the couch... part of the ploy.

Eric began to laugh. "That wily, frizzy-haired bastard!" No wonder Hyde had been so hostile toward Kelso last week. His aggression was fueled by abstinent self-denial...

* * *

The skirt of Jackie's dress was hiked up past her bellybutton, and her panties were slung over a package of toilet paper. Steven had used his lock pick to get them both inside a supply closet. Her third-place win in the costume contest was pathetic, but she quickly forgot her ire beneath the tender and ardent attention Steven gave her body. Her arms had locked around his shoulders, and her thighs were wrapped around his waist as her bare flesh answered his thrusting hips with urgency.

She came fast, cheek nestled in the sweat-slicked crook of his neck. Her fingers clutched the back of his damp curls. His pounding strokes were losing their rhythm, and his final movements coaxed the remnants of pleasure from her orgasm. She breathed slow and deep into his skin, but the usual warmth she felt didn't spread from her chest to the rest of her body... or maybe she was blocking it.

He eased her off his waist but held her close as her feet touched the ground. "I'm starting to think we should do this every week," he said, sounding both out of breath and satisfied. "Hell, I'll even go to the damn LOPPS party this Christmas if we—"

"No." She looked up at him and grasped the fabric of his shirt. It was soaked with both their sweat. "I made a mistake. A big one." The heat between her thighs still pulsed from being so close with him, yet the cold, biting emptiness of their last two breakups had seized her heart. "I didn't realize what I was doing, what it would mean..."

"Look, I was kidding about the 'every week' stuff. But you gotta admit what we just did was hot—"

She nodded. It was, and if she weren't about to cry, she could've easily done it with him again.

"And last week— _man..."_ He was chuckling. "We're fuckin' lucky we didn't completely trash Mrs. Forman's laundry shelves."

"I know, baby. I know." Her fingers slid beneath his shirt and splayed on his damp stomach. She found comfort in touching him there. She could feel his breathing, his laughter. "You seemed to like it so much, and—and after all the pushing I did before Chicago, I just wanted you to remember I could be fun and spontaneous and not serious all the time. Because I'm incredible, Steven—"

"You don't have to tell me," he said, and his knuckle gently caressed her jawline, making the pulse between her thighs stronger and the cold hijacking her heart more bitter.

"And you shouldn't need a crutch like these sex games to keep from being bored—"

"Who the hell said I was bored?"

"Because if I bore you, this relationship can't work, and I—"

"Jackie," he cupped her face, "you never bore me, okay?" and drew her in for a kiss. She savored the softness of his lips, the sweetness of his tongue before he parted. "I could keep my dick in you 24-hours a day. You think I'd have stuck around for three years if the sex got boring?"

"Then why did you agree to another week of celibacy after we'd already lost the contest?"

"'Cause you offered... crap." His face grew hard, as it often did when his Zen failed to work. "Were you testing me? Is that what that shit was?"

"No. It was—" She sighed, gaze drifting to a fallen mop on the floor. "It was stupid Michael in that towel. It was you and those toys last Christmas. It was me freaking out. _I_ was stupid, Steven." She patted her iced-over heart. _"_ _Me."_

He raised her chin, "Happens to the best of us, doll," and pecked her lips. Then he pulled her hand from her chest and rubbed his thumb over her bare ring finger. "Don't think it'll ever get boring with you."

"Steven?"

His thumb froze, and he seemed startled by what he'd done to her finger. But as his tense eyes took in her equally astonished face, they calmed into a sort of peace. "When's _anything_ boring with you?" he said, clasping her palm to his own heart. The warm beating of it traveled up her bloodstream and thawed the frost inside her chest.

"Even when I talk about my hair?" she said with a giggle.

"When you're naked and talking about it... yeah, that works."

He began to lay thick kisses up her neck, behind her earlobe. Her legs buckled, and a quiet shuddering moan escaped her, but she forced herself into coherent speech."If—if you could be—could be inside me for 24-hours a day, does that mean... _Oh, God—"_ His fingertips grazed the sensitive skin inside her elbow, one of her most secret erogenous zones. Only he knew about it, and—fate willing—only he ever would. "Steven... Puddin'..." she controlled her breathing, had to get this question out, "could you spend _time_ withme that long, too?"

"Can't have one without the other."

"Would you _want_ one without the other?"

He brought his face in front of hers, expression unguarded and piercing. "No."

It wasn't a promise, and it wasn't a proposal, but his statement was clear. Their past couldn't take him from her, not anymore. And his next fervent kiss, full of unspoken devotion, explained something else, something she'd been long waiting to know—that their future wouldn't steal him away, either.

* * *

Eric crossed his arms. Without the heat of Donna's body, the lecture hall was quite chilly. But despite the temperature, his erection still had plenty of strength left. So did the apprehension her news had brought him.

"Nope. Not Hyde," she said, and though his eyes were still closed, he could hear her amusement. He clenched his fists, unclenched them. Clenched them again. Was torturing him like this fun for her? "Or Jackie," she continued, "but backstage she did tell me they were playing some kind of kinky sex game, which I didn't really want to know. It was payback, I guess, for telling them about—"  
  
"Kelso?" he said.

"Well..."

His eyes popped open. "Damn it! He didn't have sex with that bank teller, did he?"

"No. He made it up to save face."

Eric staggered backward into the long, curved student desk running the width of the lecture hall. Adrenaline pumped into him furiously, stealing strength from his hard-on. Fight or flight, but if Kelso— _Kelso_ could hold out for this long... His fist slammed into the table. He couldn't lose to Kelso! Losing to Fez would've been bad enough.

"I won't be the screw-up," he muttered, and Donna stared at him quizzically.

* * *

Kelso plunked down on the edge of the stage and tugged on his fake beard. The elastic stretched but didn't break, and he let the beard go—snapping it straight into his eye. "Ow!"

He kept his now-tearing eye shut and surveyed the concourse with the other. He'd lost the costume contest to a stupid wolfman. Sure, the costume was great with the realistic fur and the fangs and the what-not, but the guy beneath it wasn't anywhere near as good-looking as himself. To add insult to injury, Tilly had walked off with the guy without even a glance in Kelso's direction.

Kelso grasped his beard again and yanked it. "Why won't you come off—OW!" It snapped into his other eye. _Damn!_ Now he looked like he was crying. Tears leaked onto his cheeks, and he kicked the front of the stage with his heels. "This Halloween sucks."

* * *

Donna combed her fingers through her hair, and the shiny red ends fell over her breasts. "It wasn't Kelso," she said, cutting Eric's breath short. He started to feel dizzy. "He got out the first day of the contest."

"But you just said—"

"It was Karen Christy."

"Karen Christy was in our contest?"

"Eric, focus. When Kelso took your _Thor_ comic with the nudie picture in it, he went back home—and to town."

Eric still wasn't breathing. The room's brick walls spun around his head, and he gripped the student desk for support. "But that only leaves... _no._ " Donna grinned at him impishly. "You?" He pushed off the desk and lumbered toward her. "But you lay on our bed _naked._ Your hands were by your... and sweat was all over your... and the panting!"

"I knew when you when you'd get home from the movie," she said. "You've only seen it, like, ten times."

"What about the candles?"

"I burned them to make you _think_ I'd made a night of it. Believe me, Eric, I almost did. But jumping jacks and a lot of push-ups took the edge off—and they made me look the part. You should feel my biceps." She flexed her too-sexy arm. "I haven't been this jacked-up since J.V. wrestling."

The room continued to spin around him, but he found purchase in Donna's hips. His fingers dug into them, and as his heart throbbed painfully in his throat, he managed to say, "But—but you gave me your fifty dollars!"

_"_ _Hello,_ I was trying to convince you I was out."

He swallowed, but his heart refused to sink back down. A breeze swept beneath the lecture hall's double doors, making him shiver, or maybe the chill was inside his own mind. To make matters worse, Donna dragged her palms along his arms and over his shoulders. They eased down his sides and over his stomach, and now he wanted her again—but he'd never have her... _Oh, God,_ he'd never have her...

"Are you scared?" she said, but he couldn't speak. He could only nod helplessly. "Happy Halloween."

He mouthed the first word, "Happy..." and swallowed again. This time, his heart sank down to its proper place. He regained his breath, and the fresh lungfuls of air brought clarity. He understood now what she had done and why she'd done it.

He thanked her with his eyes, and hers welcomed him inside. Then, without ceremony, he buried himself tenderly into her warm depths. She let out a small gasp and clung to him as they rediscovered their specific, special rhythm. And soon, they were laughing against the brick wall, having both climaxed. Neither admitted exactly when it happened—and neither ever would—for in their mutual secrecy, they'd agreed to lose the contest to each other...

And to win it.


End file.
